Severus Snape: The Middle Years
by Rannaro
Summary: When you are by several decades the youngest professor at Hogwarts and have, in addition, one foot in the muggle world, it is only natural that the Headmaster would turn to you for certain 'tasks' he would not trust to others. Just for fun.
1. Chapter 1 – 1983 – 1984 1

Because the same story may not be posted in two different places, the first two years can be found in the story _A Difference in the Family: The Snape Chronicles. _The First Year, 1981-1982, is in chapters 21 – 27. The Second Year, 1982-1983, is in chapters 28 – 31.

WARNING! : One of the reviewers has chosen to post a spoiler in the reviews. If you do not wish to know the ending in advance, do not read the reviews.

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**Severus Snape: The Middle Years – The Third Year, 1983-1984**

_Monday, August 1, 1983_

Packing his Gladstone bag to return to Hogwarts on the first of August was becoming a routine action for Professor Severus Snape. This was now the start of his third year teaching and, despite his continued feeling of being trapped in the job, he was beginning to think of it as at least 'normal.' He'd said his good-byes to Mrs. Hanson, the crowd at the pub, and the clerks at the stores he patronized so now, as he stood prepared to disapparate from the area yard behind his little house in the Pendle district of Lancashire, there was no reason to delay.

Professor Snape did not disapparate. Instead he left his Gladstone bag in the area yard and went back into his house and fixed another cup of tea.

_I don't want to go to Hogwarts. I hate Hogwarts. I hate teaching. Why don't I just take off for Mallorca? Bariloche? So what if I don't know how to ski? I can learn. Or Acapulco? Ditto swimming. Anything but Hogwarts._

In the end, it was not what he would face at Hogwarts, but what he would face if he didn't go to Hogwarts, that decided the question. Draining the last cup of tea in his own home for the next four and a half months, Professor Snape returned to the area yard and disapparated.

"Bit late, aren't you?" the familiar gruff voice spoke practically into Snape's ear.

"It's still summer," he replied. "We're not punching a clock yet."

"Me," said Alastor Moody, "I wouldn't want to punch a clock at the best of times. Besides injuring your hand, it's got to do damage to the clock. That could be a whole new reason for going to Azkaban, you know. Damage to ministerial timepieces."

"Did you have another reason for accosting me on a public street?"

"No." Moody grinned a rather predatory grin. "Just a vested interest in whether or not you follow your orders. I'm still waiting to welcome you to a cell in Azkaban. Even if it takes until a certain judge retires, I'll still be waiting. There's a debt yet to be paid."

And with that, Moody disapparated.

His overall mood not improved, Snape made his way toward the Hogwarts gate as quickly as possible. In doing so, he managed to run, literally, into a youngish woman just in front of the Three Broomsticks. Whosoever fault the encounter was, was not important. The lady's bags fell to the ground, spilling clothing on the cobbles.

"I am so sorry," Snape started to say, but the young lady paid him scant attention. Instead she scrambled for her unmentionables and other belongings and crammed them back into her bags. Everything safely again in her control, she marched determinedly for the gates.

"Can I be…" Snape started to say, but there was no one left to talk to. Shrugging to himself, he trailed the woman to the Hogwarts entrance and followed after her once Filch had opened the gates to admit them both.

_A teacher, obviously a teacher. But what is she here to teach? There's nothing open but Dark Arts. This can't be the Dark Arts teacher! You don't fight the Dark Arts by retreating, you…_

Dumbledore stood at the peak of the hill to welcome the newcomer to the castle. He shook her hand, and even ushered her through the doors. Snape watched from a distance, and had to acknowledge that the new professor must be of some stature to warrant such treatment from Dumbledore.

Once in the castle doors himself, Snape went immediately to his rooms in the dungeons to deposit his bag and begin confirming his inventories. He figured he would find out about the new professor, if it was a new professor, in good time.

'Good time' turned out to be lunch.

Just before noon, Snape made his way out of the dungeons into the entrance hall to greet McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout, and the other teachers at Hogwarts. He was actually pleased to see them again, proving that the experience of teaching at Hogwarts was not entirely devoid of personal satisfaction. Professor McGonagall had a special smile, acknowledging their mutual trials of the year before. Professor Flitwick was clearly aching for cribbage. Professor Sprout just grinned in her usual inclusive and all-welcoming way, but even that – or especially that – made Snape feel part of the group.

The group. Not everyone could be a teacher at Hogwarts. It was, in fact, a rather select bunch. Suddenly, with a glance, a nod, a wink, Snape was part of this group, much more than he'd been the year before, and certainly more than the year before that. Part of the group.

The new teacher was not yet part of the group, and Professor Snape was acutely aware of his own role in making her, or making her feel, a part, as he was now a part. He went into the Great Hall for lunch and waited for Dumbledore to make his announcements.

The staff sat around one of the tables in the middle of the Great Hall, the heads of houses at the foot where it was easier for them to discuss house business if necessary, and Dumbledore at the head with the new teacher at his right. She was not, given more time to observe, as young as Snape had originally thought, being of that indeterminate appearance that could be twenty or forty or anything in between. Her skin was pale and soft-looking, her hair very dark, and her eyes large and gently brown. She had an air of sadness, and seemed nervous and out of place.

Dumbledore rose. "Before we begin our meal, I should like to welcome you all back after your holidays. You look rested and ready for another school year. I am pleased to announce that we have a new instructor for the Defense against the Dark Arts class. Let me introduce to you Professor Beatrice Liripipe.

"Professor Liripipe is new to neither the Dark Arts nor to teaching, but she is new to the combination of the two, being unfamiliar with our curriculum. I knew you will all do your best to make her feel welcome and to assist her in her duties. Minerva, you could show her around the castle, and Hagrid can give her a tour of the grounds. Severus, your discipline overlaps the most with Dark Arts, and I am sure you would be able to show her the supply inventories and equipment, and help her order what she needs. Now, let us enjoy this excellent repast."

Food appeared on the table, and general conversation took over as the teachers ate and talked about their activities for the past month. Snape mostly listened, since sitting in your house reading, or doing the grocery shopping, hardly qualified as entertaining.

At the end of lunch, Dumbledore approached with Professor Liripipe. She moved awkwardly, as if unsure how to hold her arms or where to place her feet, and Snape couldn't avoid the thought that she looked like a victim of the dark arts rather than a teacher of the defense against them.

"Beatrice," said Dumbledore, "this young man is Professor Severus Snape, who teaches potions. He also does most of our ordering of supplies since his class is the one in which they are most used. I am sure he will help you determine what you need and assist you in getting it. When might be a convenient time for you, Severus?"

Snape shrugged. "Now is as good a time as any, sir," he replied. "I'm not in the middle of anything pressing, and it would be good to requisition all the supplies at once, both for Potions and Dark Arts."

"Very good! Beatrice has already seen her classroom and her living quarters, so maybe the two of you could go up there and start on the inventories."

As the three started out of the Hall, the wide sleeve of Professor Liripipe's robe caught on a plate and pulled it off the table. She spun to try to catch it, but it crashed to the floor. A soft blush of embarrassment suffused her cheeks, and she raised her hands to either side of her face to cover it.

Dumbledore quickly retrieved the plate. "No harm done, Beatrice. Now, I believe the two of your were going to work on inventories."

Snape and Liripipe crossed the entrance hall to the marble staircase, where Liripipe stumbled and almost fell forward on the steps. Sudden realization made Snape lean forward and say quietly, "You can hold the hem out of the way when you climb stairs, or you can just lift your knees higher when you take each step. Then it won't be a problem."

The huge, liquid brown eyes turned to him. "Thank you," Liripipe said, pulling up the front of the robe with one hand while she held the stair rail with the other. Carefully, but with greater confidence at each step, she managed the rest of the steps without a problem.

This little incident left Snape with a fascinating puzzle to work on. _How is it possible that we have a British witch teaching Dark Arts who has never before worn a robe?_ This, of course was now added to the puzzle that had occurred to him in the Great Hall. _If she knows nothing about our curriculum, then she must not have been a student at Hogwarts. So, where did she go to school?_ Snape loved puzzles, and these two promised to keep him busy for a while.

The Dark Arts classroom was shuttered and dim. "Some of the plants and other specimens need to be kept out of the light," Snape explained, showing Liripipe where they were. "If you want to open the shutters, you'll need to find somewhere else to keep them."

"Oh, no," Liripipe replied, "I like the way it is now. I don't mind the sun from time to time, but I prefer the dimness." Her voice was a surprise, too. Snape had expected a meek, tentative whisper, but not only did she have good volume for teaching, there was an underlying stridency, almost a harshness that balanced her shy appearance and might make it easier for her to control a class.

Together the two of them began looking through the texts, checking what was needed for the lessons, and beginning the inventory of the Dark Arts room.

A few days later, Snape was accosted by Professor Kettleburn as soon as he walked into the Great Hall for breakfast.

"I notice you're still getting that muggle newspaper every morning," he said without preamble.

"The Guardian, yes." Snape replied, but did not elaborate.

"I was wondering if you might let me look at it as well," Kettleburn continued. "I have a sudden desire to familiarize myself somewhat more with the muggle world. That newspaper might be a start. That is, of course, if you don't need it."

"Not at all," Snape said, surprised. "I never keep them. You're welcome to it."

Refusing to rush his morning routine just because of Kettleburn, Snape took his time with both his breakfast and his newspaper. He was just finishing when Professor McGonagall slipped a sheet of parchment in front of him, covering the newspaper page.

"What's this?" Snape asked.

"Incoming first years," McGonagall said. "I thought you might like to see the names of the new students.

Snape glanced down the list, noting several names he was sure would be sorted into Slytherin house. There didn't appear to be any surprises, but a little bell in the back of his head refused to stop ringing. He went back and reviewed the names again, this time more carefully. This time it jumped out at him. Folkenstone.

_There's a first year girl named Folkenstone starting in September. Why should that bother me?_ It didn't take long. _Moody. The attack against Moody that cost him his eye. One of the Death Eaters was named Folkenstone. This is probably the same family. Parent in Azkaban and Moody crouching on the doorstep. That's all I need. It's going to be a lovely year._ Snape folded up the newspaper, stood, and walked toward the door, handing the newspaper to Kettleburn as he passed.

For some unknown reason, Snape turned just inside the doorway to glance back at the Hall before walking out. Kettleburn had risen and gone further down the table where he sat himself next to Professor Dawson, the Muggle Studies teacher. He was showing her the newspaper, and together they opened it and began to scan the articles.

_That's curious. I've never known her to be keen on current events. I wonder…_ But it was a silly thought. Both Kettleburn and Dawson were married. Still, their heads were very close together over that newspaper…

That afternoon Snape went up to the first floor to see if Professor Liripipe needed anything. She wasn't in her classroom, so Snape continued up to the next floor to the Dark Arts office. At the top of the staircase, he glanced out the window to the lake below.

Professor Liripipe wasn't in her office. She was in the lake. Snape could see her head and shoulders above the surface as she appeared to tread water some distance from the shore. _I wonder if she knows about the merpeople and the squid?_

Then Liripipe must have kicked strongly, for suddenly she rose straight up out of the water, jackknifed, and dove under, her feet pushing her in an equally straight plunge down into the depths of the lake. Snape's eyes widened in shock, then he turned quickly away and went looking for Dumbledore.

"Swimming?" said Dumbledore, not seeming in the least surprised. "That is hardly a cause for concern Severus. I am certain she is a quite competent swimmer. You need not worry about her."

"It isn't that, headmaster. It's that… well, she needs to be told. About the windows, and the students… and she can't…"

"Cannot what? You really must come out and say what you mean, my dear boy."

"Well, she was… I mean, she wasn't…" Snape was still unable to actually admit to what he'd seen.

Dumbledore peered at the Potions teacher. "Are you blushing?" he asked, but at the same moment realization dawned. "I see. It is good of you to come directly to me. I shall, of course, advise her not to… ahem. I am sure we shall be able to come up with some sort of solution. A bathing costume, I believe it is called. Leave this to me."

"Thank you, sir," said Snape, and hurried down to the dungeons, carefully avoiding the southern windows lest he spy something he was not supposed to look at.

That evening at dinner, Professor Liripipe did not appear at all embarrassed by Snape's presence, and he assumed that Dumbledore had not given her full details about the source of his information. Snape hoped he'd done nothing to force her to curtail her aquatic activities, for aside from the small matter of conventions, she had seemed to be quite an excellent swimmer.

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Then suddenly it was the evening of the first of September, and the train was arriving at Hogsmeade station. Hagrid went out to escort the first years to the boats while the heads of houses waited at the top of the hill to ensure the students in the thestral carriages didn't get out of hand. The routine actually felt normal.

For the first time since the summer break had ended for the teachers, Snape found himself back at the high table on the dais where he could watch over Slytherin house. Kettleburn sat next to him and Liripipe farther along, near Dumbledore. The older students settled down, the first years marched in, and the Sorting began. There were no surprises. At the end of the feast, after the prefects took their houses away, Snape joined the other teachers in the staff room. Most of them were staying this night, just to be sure the first day started out well.

"You have to be strict with them," McGonagall was telling Liripipe. "You can ease up later on, once you've established the routine, but you have to be a dragon at the beginning. You don't want them to walk all over you."

Snape moved away, not really wanting to join any particular conversation, but picking up snippets as he passed little groups of teachers.

"…have an excellent chance to win the cup this year…" Sprout was telling Professor Vector, who enjoyed a good game of Quidditch.

"…I hear he's with the exotic disease ward at St. Mungo's. And to think I picked that boy for a total failure in second year, he was so…" This from Professor Flitwick to Madam Pince.

"…may be a lot of promise there, but I don't know if I want to take the chance," Kettleburn was saying. "Not virgin, anyway." Snape's ears were instantly tuned to the conversation, though he kept his back turned.

"Really?" replied Dawson. "I would have thought otherwise. At least that was my impression, but maybe you know better about these things."

"I think we just have to keep watching for a while. It is important not to move too fast. One mistake could ruin everything."

Dawson sighed. "I suppose you're right. It isn't as if we'll have a second shot at it."

The two moved away, leaving Snape puzzling over the tidbits of the exchange he'd just overheard. Ruin what? Second shot at what? He considered the wisdom of trying to follow Kettleburn and Dawson around but gave it up as both prying too much in something that was probably not his business, and in any case too likely to get him in trouble if they noticed. _You'll have more of Moody this year, Severus,_ Snape told himself. _You don't need any more enemies._

And then school started in earnest. The next day was Friday, and though the morning was dedicated to first year orientation, the afternoon was Potions with the Slytherin and Gryffindor first years. And an infuriating group of dunderheads they were, with not a single student in the bunch having any background in potions work at all.

_What a lovely year this is turning out to be, and it's just the first day!_

Evening brought another unpleasant surprise, an owl with a note from Moody. It was short and to the point, reminding Snape that Slytherin house now held a student to whose parents Moody owed a debt. He advised Snape to take care of the child.

_So sweet. Perfectly correct on the surface. No one looking at the note would ever suspect the malice behind it._ Snape was wondering if this wasn't already shaping up to be his worst year at Hogwarts.

And considering what the last two years had been like, that was saying quite a bit.

On Sunday, Snape suddenly found himself the breakfast partner of Professor McGonagall. "I see you got my changeling," was all she said as she seated herself next to him and reached for the bacon.

"Come again?" replied Snape.

"My changeling. The Gryffindor boy who mysteriously got himself sorted into Slytherin. His parents have been feathering my office with owls since Thursday. Surely you noticed."

Snape hadn't noticed. The only Slytherin names that he reacted to were the children of Death Eaters. If anyone should come with the same last name as one of his old school mates, he would probably notice that. The social pecking order of wizardom was not yet, however, second nature to him. _And never will be if I can help it._ "What's his name?" he asked McGonagall.

"Paul Hooper."

"Pureblood or part-blood?"

"Pureblood."

"He should be all right. They'll look on him as a heretic to be converted, but at least a socially acceptable heretic. Sort of like Henry IV."

"Come again?" said McGonagall in her turn.

"King of Navarre. A Protestant who became the bloodline heir to the throne of France except he was of the wrong religion. Paris was worth a mass, though, and he converted. He was, in fact, very popular, and his former adherence to the minority religion was never allowed to obscure the fact that he came from the right family. So coming from a Gryffindor family won't be as big an issue as, say, being half-blood or muggle born."

McGonagall peered at Snape closely. "Are we speaking from experience here?"

"We very well may be. Don't worry, I'll keep an eye on him."

Keeping an eye on Paul Hooper was not hard. Too easy, in fact. Master Hooper was a tall, broad boy with sandy hair and a vacuous smile, and he was the biggest dunderhead of the entire multitude of dunderheads in Snape's Potions classes. Snape even approached Dumbledore about the possibility of having the boy tested to find out if he knew how to read. It was that bad.

"How do you start with a potion that requires newt eggs, lizard bile, and dog grass, and end up with adder venom, rose thorns, and the gills of an Amanita muscaria?" Snape asked McGonagall at supper two weeks later. "The boy is a walking disaster area! It gives added meaning to the phrase 'damage control'."

"Now, now. We are talking about a child. A tender, unformed mind and spirit that needs both our guidance and our nurture."

"You're gloating, aren't you? You're sitting there just snickering at me because he's in my house and not yours."

"And loving every second of it."

"I'm going to start tutoring him in Transfiguration."

"I don't wish to offend, laddie, but you were never my best pupil in Transfiguration."

"Exactly! You just wait until you find out the damage he can cause in your classes!"

"Ye wouldna!"

"I would!"

That was before they discovered that Master Hooper had a genius for practical jokes surpassing any within the living memory of Hogwarts.

"This lesson, as you can see," said Snape as he entered a silent first year classroom, "requires the suckers from the tentacle of a Black Sea octopus…" He paused to look around at the rapt faces. Too rapt. Too charged with mirthful expectation. Snape looked at the table that held the ingredients.

There was no octopus tentacle.

_Steady, Severus. They're only eleven years old. Where would you hide an octopus tentacle if you were still eleven years old?_ Snape looked up at the ceiling. _Fascinating how the suckers of even a dead octopus are capable of attaching the tentacle to the stone._

"All right," Snape said icily. "Who did it?"

To their credit, none of the students said anything, though a few of them glanced quickly at Master Hooper.

Snape was beginning to suspect that Paul Hooper had no need of anyone looking out for him.

Then, of course, there was Quidditch. They'd lost Rhonda Shoemaker, who'd graduated and gone on to bigger things, so there was a Chaser to recruit. Plus, Snape insisted that other students could challenge the continuing team members if they thought they could do a better job. Tryouts were held the last week of September, and Rhonda was replaced as Chaser by Polonius Franklin, a boy whose broom skills had suddenly blossomed during second year. Now, as a third year chaser, he was in a position to become one of the mainstays of the team, having five years to play and improve before he graduated.

The rest of the team survived their challenges, Lionel Atherton as Seeker, Richie Gamp as Keeper, David Commyns and Saffron Magee the other two Chasers, and Sergey Duval and Josh Van Zandt the Beaters. Slytherin now had a team most of whose players had been together for a full two years, and the prospects for the cup were improving.

Snape made a point of coming to the first couple of practices just to show that he was interested. It helped encourage the team.

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_Monday, October 3, 1983_

The first Monday in October brought a sudden cold snap. Snape made his way up from the dungeon to find frost on the grass of the lawn at the top of the hill. This probably meant more students staying inside during the day, and correspondingly more supervisory duties. Walking in to breakfast, Snape was already not in a good mood.

Owls arrived at the same time as the food. Insofar as Snape was concerned, this was an insufferable nuisance, and he made a mental note to find out if there was anything corresponding to a Department of Health in the Ministry of Magic. Owls swooping over food couldn't be sanitary.

One large tawny owl swept past the student tables and headed straight to the high table where the teachers sat. It dropped a red envelope in front of Professor Liripipe and then soared to the rafters. Quite naturally, all the teachers turned to look at the unhappy professor, for this first missive that she received as a Hogwarts instructor was very clearly a Howler.

Now, it is a well-known fact that any small, isolated community thrives on prurient gossip about its members. There wasn't a professor at the table who wasn't dying to know what was in that Howler. And yet, as Professor Liripipe reached for the red envelope, something about her movements rang a bell in Snape's brain. _She doesn't know what it is!_

It was a matter of seconds between the arrival of the owl and the opening of the Howler – no time for anyone to think about warning Liripipe – and then the red message began yelling in an angry male voice:

_How could you be so shameless as to abandon us! Is that school more important than your family! The children cry themselves to sleep every night wondering where their mother is! If you had any sense of decency, you would return where you belong – to your husband and your babies who…_

And then the Howler was gone as Dumbledore, a furious Dumbledore, shredded it to dust with a wave of his wand.

Professor Liripipe was rigid with shock and pale as a ghost. Dumbledore put an arm around her and helped her to stand, guiding her to the small room to one side of the dais. Liripipe went with him in a daze, hardly seeming to understand where he was leading her.

The Great Hall, which had been shocked into silence by the roars of the Howler, now erupted in comment and conversation. "Whatever was that about?" Kettleburn said to Snape, but Snape didn't answer. He was already on his feet and edging toward the small side chamber. Another bell had started ringing, and Snape had something important to discuss with Dumbledore.

The opportunity for discussion came half an hour later, after Professor Liripipe had recovered sufficiently to go to her rooms and prepare for her classes, the first of which had been canceled anyway to give her a bit more time. Snape cornered Dumbledore on the marble staircase, perfectly willing to let his own students wait five minutes.

"You're sure he's coming back, aren't you?" Snape challenged without preamble.

"Whatever are you talking about, my dear boy?" Dumbledore replied.

"Moriarty. He's coming back. We discussed that when Bella went after the Longbottoms, and now I see you're sure. You're sure you know he's coming back."

"Now what has made you jump to that extraordinary conclusion?"

"Professor Liripipe. You know, I never had the same Dark Arts instructor for two years in a row? Something always happened to them. As if there was a curse on the job. He's gone now, but you think the curse is still there, don't you? Scrimgeour left, and Carmichael left, and you're so sure that anyone you hire will be gone after a year that you're using the job to hide Professor Liripipe from her husband. Next year she won't be here either, an you'll be even more sure."

"Ah, dear, Severus. I think I shall never quite forgive Professor Slughorn for not noticing immediately what a fine brain you have. Yes, I fear that I truly believe that Moriarty is coming back. And if I should come to need your assistance in the future with regard to Professor Liripipe's situation, I trust you will not hold that fact against me."

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October quickly became 'Paul Hooper Month.'

The first victim was Professor Sprout, who awoke one morning to find that greenhouse three had been taken over by a goat, and a rather bilious goat at that. The moment she walked through the door, it lowered its head and tried to butt her, sending her scampering for the Great Hall and assistance.

Kettleburn got first refusal rights. "Is it a magical goat?" he asked calmly. "You know, I am the Care of Magical Creatures instructor. If it isn't magical, I suggest you see the gamekeeper."

"Goats ain't game," Hagrid told her. "Goats is domestic. So you see, not my job at all. And it's not 'cause I don't like goats… Well, I don't, but that ain't the reason. Now don't go blubbering on me, Professor. I'd love to help but… well, I warned you when you installed them narrow doors to keep the heat in, I just can't get into greenhouse three. Now you get someone to bring the goat out, and I'll take care of it as a favor. It not being in my job description."

"In order to transform it," said McGonagall, "I'd have to stay inside greenhouse three for, well, too much time really. But I am certain that Severus would adore the opportunity to acquire a bezoar." And she smirked at Snape, who was sitting next to her.

"Are you actually telling me that you want me to kill this goat?" said Snape, fixing a cold eye on McGonagall. "I'm sure that's not Pomona's intent."

"I just want it out of my greenhouse while I still have some plants left," Sprout pleaded. Then a calculating look came into her eyes. "That's where I keep the mandrakes," she added.

Snape was out of his chair and following Sprout from the Hall in an instant. "What do you mean by leaving mandrakes where a goat can get them," he fumed.

"You'd better not be accusing me of putting the goat in there on purpose," she retorted, "or I'll harvest all your betony early."

"Ye wouldna!"

"Och, laddie, but I would!"

Sprout opened the door of greenhouse three somewhat timidly. The goat came crashing at the door as if attacking Sprout was its defining purpose in life. Behind it the baby mandrakes could be heard wailing in terror. At least they weren't too late. As Snape glanced around for something, anything, that could be used against the goat, he spied the little group of Slytherins watching them from the carriage house. Prominent among them was Hooper. _I'm going to hex that little monster, I swear I am._

Snape learned several things that day, first of which was that a goat can charge across a greenhouse faster than you can say _'Petrificus Totalus.'_ Faster than you can think _Petrificus Totalus_ in fact, at least when you are trying to avoid a goat in close quarters. Second was that half of a Petrificus Totalus spell just makes the goat more irritated and gives you even less time to say or think another spell. Third was that the reputation goats have for chewing on anything is well founded and includes the tips of wands you drop when you haven't said _'Petrificus Totalus'_ fast enough.

Sprout, of course, was useless because she was laughing too hard, so Snape grabbed her wand and screamed, _"Accio!"_ before his own wand lost a major percentage of its length. _No bezoar is worth this._

The audience of Slytherins had by this time been augmented not only by more Slytherins, but by students from other houses. There was a certain amount of surreptitious, but ill-concealed, congratulation of Master Hooper, confirming Snape in the identity of the source of his misery.

Flitwick arrived at this point and suggested that one of them enter the greenhouse to distract the goat while another hit the beast from behind with the Body Bind.

"Great!" said Snape. "You go in, and I'll zap the goat."

"I was thinking more of you, since you're younger and have longer legs. I don't move quite as fast, you know."

"I am not going back into that deathtrap with that demon masquerading as a farm animal," Snape insisted, but he knew that he was already outvoted.

They threw a head of lettuce into the greenhouse to distract the goat, then Snape slipped into the cramped space. Luckily there was a solid table in the center (for demonstrations) that he could keep between himself and the murderous creature. It took some maneuvering, but Snape finally got himself into the back of the greenhouse (not the best place to be under the circumstances) and the goat near the door, glaring at him across the furniture. Flitwick stepped in and immobilized the animal.

"You did that," Snape hissed at Hooper as Sprout transported the immobile goat from the greenhouse.

"Me, sir?" Hooper replied, eyes wide with innocence. "Where would I get a goat?"

Which, considering Hooper couldn't leave Hogwarts and nothing could be magically transported in, was precisely the right question to ask.

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The next hit was in mid October, and this time it was Kettleburn. "There you are!" he called as he spied Snape in the Great Hall Saturday morning. "Come quick. I need you."

"Why?" Snape demanded without preamble, unwilling to accept Kettleburn's judgment about anything, especially if it was going to spoil his Saturday.

"It's the clabberts. They've gone crazy and they're tearing the place apart."

"What in the name of Merlin are you doing with clabberts on the grounds!"

"NEWT level class next week. They were delivered last evening."

Snape shrugged. "So they're in a cage. How much damage can crazy clabberts do in a cage?"

"They're not in the cage. They're loose in the lecture room. They managed to pick the lock."

"I," said Snape with considerable dignity, "am not the instructor in charge of magical creatures. I am the Potions instructor. This is not part of my job."

"It is if they've been poisoned."

"Have they gotten out of the lecture room?"

"Not yet, thank goodness."

"Do you keep poisons in the lecture room?"

"Of course not! Do I look like an idiot?"

"Then they haven't been poisoned. And clabberts are no more my job than goats were yours."

"Severus, please! They'll destroy the equipment!"

They got Flitwick to help and made their way upstairs to the Magical Creatures lecture room. The sound of smashing glass and splintering wood could be heard through the door.

"How many are there?" Snape asked Kettleburn, his hand on the latch.

"Three."

Snape quickly opened the door and slipped inside, closing it behind him. The clabberts had gone wild, careening off the walls, swinging from the chandeliers, tossing books and papers all over the room. Their subtly mottled green skin was suffused with a red underglow, and their movements were jerky and wild. They seemed far more tense than the monkey-like beasts were supposed to be. Snape opened the door and slipped out again.

"It's pharmacological," he said. "You'll have to just immobilize them, then we can run some tests. At least they're not attacking everything that comes through the door."

Flitwick cast the spell, then Kettleburn and Snape restrained the immobile clabberts so that the spell could be lifted. That was when the hard part started.

"We have to collect what!" Kettleburn gasped.

"A urine sample. And if they're immobilized, they can't donate one. So I'll hold one of them, Flitwick will take the spell off, and you collect the sample in this little cup."

The clabbert did not cooperate, and Snape soon found that holding a wild, crazy clabbert was a lot more destructive to his robes than collecting a urine sample would be. Flitwick immobilized the beast again, and Snape and Kettleburn switched places. Suffice it to say that it took a while before they could convince the clabbert that the place he was supposed to urinate was the cup.

After that it was easy. Snape ran his tests in his Potions room and returned to the lecture room with the results. "Your clabberts have been drinking coffee," he said.

"That's not possible," Kettleburn replied.

"Or something similar. Their systems are full of caffeine."

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_Saturday, October 29, 1983_

Then it was the last weekend in October, and time for the first Hogsmeade excursion. Snape had supervisory duty in Hogsmeade, which was fine as long as he got there early enough to find a window spot at the Three Broomsticks where he could watch the street and pick up signs of brewing trouble.

The best part about Hogsmeade duty (which Snape normally loathed) was that Paul Hooper was a first year student and therefore not allowed to go. Aside from Master Hooper's two major excursions into practical jokes, the young man had proven himself a constant irritant in class. Not only did he never study or turn in assignments, which might be called 'doing positive things in a negative way,' he did negative things in a positive way.

Among the negative things that Master Hooper most positively did were

a) make noises in class – whistling, burping, tapping pens on desks, and hawking as if to spit;

b) throw things – wads of paper, quills, carefully hoarded pebbles - Snape hardly dared turn his back;

c) make rude comments about the class and other students – and then blithely assert that Snape was in error in accusing him because he'd never done it;

d) harass other students – by writing in their notebooks, hiding their texts or ingredients, making rude gestures…

Snape was quite frankly surprised that Master Hooper was still among the living, since the teachers were not the only ones who were beginning to hate the sight and sound of him. He now frequently got into situations in which other students told Hooper to shut up, and Snape found himself refereeing a shouting match where more than one student was determined to have the last word.

Never before had Snape hated teaching with such a burning passion.

Today, however, was the Hogsmeade excursion. Today Snape would be rid of Hooper for nearly six blessed hours.

What Snape had forgotten was that Hooper might be replaced by Moody.

Having forgone lunch in order to arrive in Hogsmeade early, Snape was just settling himself at the best next-to-the-window street-watching table in the Three Broomsticks when Moody walked in the door.

"Well, bless me!" Moody exclaimed. "Look who's here! If it isn't my favorite Hogwarts professor! Mind if I sit down with you?"

Which he did before Snape could say anything, thus requiring that the 'Expulsion of Moody' become a public spectacle. Snape sighed and resigned himself to Moody's presence for at least part of the afternoon. _How much worse can Moody be than supervising Hooper?_

"Just wanted to let you know I was still here," Moody said jovially, clearly pleased by the expression on Snape's face.

"And I would have been devastated if you hadn't dropped in," Snape replied. "I positively live for every opportunity to see your face."

"I knew you couldn't survive without me." Moody let the moments tick by. Then – "I did want to remind you that there was a student in Slytherin house whose welfare is 'of interest' to me."

Snape was instantly recalled to the matter of Sancho Folkenstone and the attack on Moody nearly two years' previously. He hadn't, truth be told, paid as much attention to young Sancho as he might have. Moody's presence was a reminder that the boy was in danger. "You know," he said, "some students benefit by not being overly watched."

"And others by being watched continuously," Moody replied.

"I really think that you should let this one develop on his own, without continual surveillance."

"I think I should keep an eye on him. Can you honestly tell me he's your best pupil?"

No, he wasn't. But Snape was not about to give Moody the satisfaction of telling him that. "Every boy," he said, "has his own potential."

Moody threw back his head and laughed. "You got more stamina than I would have suspected, Professor," he said. "I'll wait and see how long you last."

The not-so-polite conversation was interrupted by loud voices from the street, and a moment later Professor Liripipe darted into the Three Broomsticks as if seeking refuge. Right behind her came a wizard. A wizard who quickly established his credentials. A wizard who was her husband.

There was no need for anyone to tell Snape who the angry wizard was, or the nature of his connection to Professor Liripipe. Snape watched them enter the inn, and he knew. The frightened professor was more timid than Snape's mother, and the wizard wealthier and perhaps more sophisticated than his father, but there was no denying the relationship of abused and abuser.

Snape was on his feet at once, wand in hand, Moody forgotten, the doors in his brain closing down automatically, placing himself where he'd tried to stand so many times as a child to no avail, between the mother and the raging father. Liripipe stopped by the counter of the bar and watched in silence.

"Get the hell out of my way!" the wizard spat at Snape. "You're interfering where you have no right!"

"I think not," Snape replied quietly. "I represent Hogwarts at the moment, and you're assaulting a member of the Hogwarts staff. That not only gives me the right, it gives me considerable scope of action." His wand was up, not quite in the man's face, but a definite threat.

"That's my wife, and this is a domestic matter."

"Violence is never just a domestic matter. I suggest you step back outside."

"Don't tell me what I can or can't do in my own family. You insolent little piece of… I'm going to plaster you all over these walls if you don't stand aside now!"

Moody had risen from his seat and was edging out the half-open door. Snape noted the action, but was too focused on the wizard in front of him to question its import. "I have no way of knowing," Snape said, his voice a touch louder now, "whether it is your habit to follow threats with action. I suggest everyone move away from the center of the room since the shock wave from a shield spell…" Students and other customers began to back quickly away from the two men, some leaving the inn and joining a growing crowd in the street.

Suddenly Snape wasn't alone. Josh Van Zandt slipped in on one side of him, and Sergey Duval on the other, both with wands out. "Need a little backup, Professor?" Sergey asked.

"Thank you," Snape replied, still not taking his eyes off the wizard. "You will do nicely."

The prospect of dueling two large, brawny Quidditch beaters as well as a Professor clearly made the other man pause. He lowered his wand a hair and took a half step backwards. "Three against one…" he began.

"…are eminently good odds from where I'm standing," Snape finished. "Now I suggest…"

What Snape was about to suggest was never spoken, for at that moment Dumbledore entered the Three Broomsticks with Moody right behind.

"Ah," Dumbledore said, "Mr. Liripipe. I had not expected to have the pleasure of your company so soon after the last time. May I enquire why you seem to be threatening a member of my staff and two of my students with your wand?"

"This officious young man is interfering in a discussion between myself and my wife."

"I see. Is it normal for your wife to dash panic-stricken into a public house while she is engaged in conversation with you?"

Mr. Liripipe turned, enraged, but stifled whatever comment he'd been planning to make at the sight of Dumbledore's face. The Headmaster was controlled but angry, the softness of his voice belied by the wrath in his eyes.

"I would suggest," Dumbledore continued, "that you withdraw from this establishment and return home. Professor Liripipe has made it very clear that she does not desire your company. Your presence is acceptable neither in Hogwarts nor in Hogsmeade, since it is evident that you intend to disturb the peace."

"I have rights…"

"Not as many as you believe you do, since harassing Professor Liripipe and threatening Professor Snape are not included among them. Now, Mr. Liripipe, if you would be so kind…" Dumbledore stood aside, leaving passage to the door free.

Mr. Liripipe looked around at the assembled students and residents of the village. He was outnumbered and unwanted. "I bow to force," he said, his lips and nose curling with contempt, "but I won't give up. She's my wife, the mother of my children, and she will come home." With that he stormed from the inn and out into the street, where he disapparated.

"Are you all right, Professor?" Dumbledore said to Liripipe, crossing the common room of the Three Broomsticks to stand next to her, a worried look on his face.

"Oh, yes, sir. I saw him before he came near me, and when I came in here, Professor Snape defended me."

"That was well done, Severus." Dumbledore spoke seriously. "I would suggest, however, that you watch your back when you are outside Hogwarts. Mr. Liripipe has been known to bear grudges."

"Yes, sir," Snape replied. Dumbledore returned with Professor Liripipe to Hogwarts while Snape resumed his place at the windowside table. Moody had left, and Snape saw no more of him that day.

When the Hogsmeade excursion was over, and Snape followed the students back up to the castle for supper, there was a message asking him to go up to Dumbledore's office. The message contained the assurance that Snape would be fed, and there was thus no need to worry about supper.

The repast that greeted Snape was, in fact, splendid. He actually felt guilty for the extra work the kitchen staff had to do. The presence of Professor Liripipe, on the other hand, was no surprise at all. Snape had rather expected her to be there.

"First," said Dumbledore as he seated Snape at a small table and proceeded to load his plate with delectables, "we should like to reiterate our thanks for your most timely intervention this afternoon. What might have been an extremely ugly scene was, thankfully, nipped in the bud."

"It was nothing," Snape murmured, noting that Dumbledore was feeding him avocado salad and truffled risotto, and taking the proffered food as a bribe.

"You will understand that despite the public nature of today's incident, the relationship between Professor Liripipe and her husband remains one of the highest confidentiality."

"Of course."

"Excellent. I knew you would understand."

"I have a question. If it's out of line, I'll withdraw it."

"Ask away, dear boy."

Snape was more reticent than he wanted to be, finding himself hard-pressed to express what he desired to. "My father…" he began, then stopped, then plowed forward. "My father was… not unlike your husband. I… Well, you have children. Are they with him?"

"Yes," Liripipe replied quietly. "They are with him. He cherishes them and protects them. It is only I who…" She paused and glanced at Dumbledore before continuing. "It is in the order of things that if I should leave him, they would follow me. And this he could not bear."

"How old are they?" Snape asked, puzzled.

"The girl is nine, the boy seven."

"And you would get custody?"

"They would follow me."

"Now, Severus." Dumbledore was effectively halting the inquiry. "This afternoon you may have unwittingly placed your self in the line of fire. You also, however, reminded me that of all the members of my staff you are probably in the best position to understand the relationship between Professor Liripipe and her husband on, shall we say, an organic level. You are familiar with the emotional interdependencies it creates and the manipulations that can be effectively employed. Professor Liripipe herself is relatively new to the situation, having only determined to return to… her home this last summer, thus prompting the reactions of Mr. Liripipe that you witnessed today. He will undoubtedly try other tactics, ones which you may recognize easily, having yourself… well, you understand."

"Yes, Headmaster." When Dumbledore did not continue, Snape did. "Why doesn't she… Excuse me, Professor Liripipe… Why don't you just go home?"

Liripipe looked at Dumbledore and shook her head slightly. Dumbledore turned to the great fireplace. "There is something we must find first," he said. "Something without which this whole attempt is in vain and Professor Liripipe will have to return to her husband."

"Can I help?"

"Perhaps. I do not know yet."

Snape thought for a moment. "Is this an unknown thing that has to be discovered, or is it a known thing that's been hidden?"

Dumbledore smiled. "Is the game afoot, Sherlock? I must ask you not to do anything to alert Mr. Liripipe of your knowledge or interest beyond what happened today. He knows she is searching. He assumes I am searching. Beyond that, the wider the search becomes the more likely he will move the thing or destroy it. Above all, we do not want that to happen."

"You won't tell me what it is?"

Dumbledore looked at Liripipe, who again shook her head. "I fear not, Severus."

"Just one more question. What's Mr. Liripipe's first name?"

This time there was no objection. "Polydore," Dumbledore said, and with that Snape left the office heading, naturally, for the library.

It didn't take long. Taking the age of the elder child as a clue, Snape began searching back issues of _The Daily Prophet_ from about ten years earlier. In the issue for July 23, 1973, he found a small notice concerning Polydore Liripipe and his new wife.

_WEDDINGS: LIRIPIPE, Polydore. Mr. Polydore Liripipe of the Ministry of Magic, Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, announced that he was married a month ago, while on assignment to Scandinavia and the Northern Isles. He and the new Mrs. (Beatrice) Liripipe have returned to London after a brief honeymoon on the Isle of Skye._

Snape read the announcement several times, trying to discover what about it made the bells ring in his head. Unsuccessful, he searched the gossip columns for the next few weeks and found, in Madame Hopper's Ministry Memos of July 30:

_WHIRLWIND WEDDINGS: Who would have thought that after all these years Polydore Liripipe would finally tie the knot? Mr. A-Pox-On-All-Your-Parties landed back in London a week ago with – get this – a blushing bride. And we thought you were doing Ministry business on that expense account, Poly, old boy… Those of you who want to meet the girl who swept our most confirmed old bachelor off his feet had better hurry. Poly (bless his heart) has started dropping hints about her fragile constitution, and moi has deduced that the sweet thing may already be in a family way. Invite them now, ducks, because you may not see a lot of either over the next few months._

Beyond that, Mr. and Mrs. Liripipe appeared to be sublimely unnewsworthy. Snape found nothing else about them in the papers at all except for routine announcements of the birth of a girl named Emara in 1974 and a boy name Marrex in 1976.

The next day, Sunday, Snape went to the Hogwarts archives. There he found that Polydore Liripipe, born in 1931, had entered Hogwarts in September 1942 and graduated in June 1949. His record was good, but not distinguished. No Outstandings in his NEWTs, but Exceeds Expectations in Care of Magical Creatures, Herbology, Dark Arts, Potions, and Transfiguration.

Then Snape thought to look for Professor Liripipe's records. That was when the bells rang loud and clear. Search as he might, Snape could find no mention anywhere of the maiden name of Polydore Liripipe's wife, or any indication of where she was from. _What kind of wedding announcement gives you no background on the bride?_

Snape was stumped, at least temporarily. He knew that Mr. Liripipe had been on a Ministry assignment in Scandinavia and the Northern Isles when he got married. That indicated that Professor Liripipe came from the same area. Snape made a list that included: Norway, Sweden, Finland, Denmark, the Shetlands, the Hebrides (Inner and Outer), and the Orkneys. He left off the Isle of Man as being too far south. After a moment's thought, he specified Skye (the place of the honeymoon), and then added Iceland. It didn't help a lot.

At that point Snape suspended his research, for something larger was looming. The next day, Monday, October 31, was the second anniversary of Lily's death. This time, Snape did not intend to let it slip by without commemoration.

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That afternoon, Snape pulled out his Lararium and the framed note from Lily about meeting by the lake, which he placed near the fireplace. In the process he found his New Year's resolutions from two years earlier, and the photos of his parents and grandmothers. What was important, however, was Lily.

At supper, Snape arranged for Flitwick to do his inside rounds and Hagrid to do his outside ones since he didn't want to be interrupted at curfew. He promised both that he would reciprocate, and though both said it wasn't necessary Snape, of course, knew that it was. The important thing was that the evening would not be disturbed. Everything had to be just right, especially since he was not using magic.

Around ten o'clock, Snape checked that the narrow windows near the ceiling of his office were open for proper ventilation, then placed a small ceramic dish lined with pebbles in front of the framed note on the Lararium. On the pebbles he put a little circle of charcoal meant to be used in a thurible. It sputtered and ignited at the first touch of a match. Once the charcoal was hot, Snape put on it incense, then a morsel of bread and a drop of wine as a libation.

As the bread charred to nothing and the smell of incense permeated the office, Snape thought of Lily, of the girl who'd shared their classes, her muggle existence, and his love of space travel, who'd managed to open the doors in his mind as Dumbledore never could, and who'd stormed to his defense against all opposition, including his own. Her falling in love with James Potter had to be the worst moment in Snape's life, since it robbed him of the only friend he had, but he couldn't deny that she'd been happy. Now all he could do was honor her memory.

_I swear to you that I had no idea it was you. If I'd had any clue that it was you, I'd have let the Dark Lord kill me that evening when he debriefed me. I'd have barred his way when he went hunting you. I'd have killed Sirius with my own hands before he could betray you. I'd have done anything. But I didn't know it was you. Lily, forgive me._

The charcoal burned out, the fireplace was reduced to embers, and the incense dissipated to a presence on the edge of consciousness. It was midnight. Halloween had begun. Making sure that no dangerous flames were left burning, Snape went to bed.

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_Monday, October 31, 1983_

Halloween day went by smoothly, more so since Paul Hooper was in none of Snape's classes. Even though he was generally inundated by the minutia of the daily routine, Snape nevertheless found odd moments between classes to settle himself and recollect Lily. It was a somber, yet curiously serene day all around.

One jarring note came at lunchtime, and it came from Kettleburn. Settling himself unexpectedly next to Snape, he muttered into Snape's ear, "Can I ask you about a couple of things in confidence?"

"I suppose so," Snape replied, trying not to sound as surprised as he felt. "I hope this doesn't involve criminal activity. I tend to draw the line at being an accessory before, during, or after the fact."

"No, no," Kettleburn insisted. "Strictly on the up-and-up. Just private."

"And why me?"

"Expertise, my boy. Knowledge of the hidden world, if you know what I mean."

"Muggles?"

"On the nose."

"All right, what did you want to know?"

"Money first. How do you get it and what's it worth?"

"Gringotts will exchange galleons into pounds for you. How much you need depends on what you want to buy."

"What about a place to spend the night?"

"Why not just apparate in and out instead of going to a muggle hotel?"

"Magic is… People can tr… Well, you know…" Kettleburn clearly didn't want to discuss that part of it.

For the rest of the lunch hour, Snape and Kettleburn discussed money, banks, hotels (including registering and the need for suitcases), restaurants, shopping, and public transportation. By the end of the conversation, Snape had gleaned that Kettleburn was planning on spending part of the Christmas break in London with a companion, and that he didn't want to use magic as that was traceable. It was all very hush-hush.

After his last class and before the Halloween feast, Snape returned to his office to perform another small ritual before the lararium. This time he felt Lily's presence more strongly than before, so instead of trying to voice his thoughts he simply let himself exist with them. By the time he had to go to the Great Hall, he was calm and centered.

It was not to last. Students were crowded in the back of the hall staring, pointing, whispering, and… giggling. As he entered and looked to his left, Snape saw why.

Draped from the rafters above the staff table was an enormous banner. It was perfectly positioned so that above each staff member's place was a caricature of the person who usually sat in that chair. Snape's personal portrait was labeled 'Snake,' and showed a long, thin, black serpentine body with what was clearly Snape's face, except his hooked nose had become another snake, and his hair was Medusan vipers. The artist was really quite good.

Dumbledore had become 'Stumblemore' and was shown tripping over his long beard. Sprout was 'Stout,' and by a clever play on words was not only plumper than usually, but was also drunkenly hefting a pint. The teachers were not hard to identify: 'Petalborn' issued from a flowery womb, naked except for diapers; 'Sinister' sported a top hat and thin black mustaches; 'Picknick' was an ant walking away with someone else's lunch. McGonagall fared the worst, perhaps, because she was transformed into 'Belong-to-troll' and was shown locked in a passionate kiss with a mountain troll while sparks shot from the bun at the back of her head.

Snape strode forward, wand upraised, to remove the offending banner, but was stopped in time by Kettleburn. "Don't do it! It's shielded!" he cried, and Snape lowered his wand. "Flitwick tried first," Kettleburn continued, "and they've only just revived him. Luckily Sprout isn't as good at Charms, but she still got quite a shock. I'd hate to see what a rebound would do to you."

"Thank you," Snape said quietly, relieved that he hadn't, after all, used the cutting spell. It wouldn't have been pretty. He looked around. Hooper was in one corner smirking with his buddies. He had to grudgingly admit that shielding a banner against the Hogwarts teachers was not a feat that many first years were capable of. He was beginning to seriously wonder where Hooper had learned all of this.

Needless to say, Dumbledore was – well, not furious. He actually chuckled at the caricature of himself and affected to stumble over his own beard a couple of times in imitation. He was, however, displeased with the caricatures of some of the teachers, especially the implication that Sprout was a drinker (totally not true), and the ribaldry so offensive to someone like McGonagall. For Snape, he had no sympathy whatsoever. He thought Snape needed to learn how to take a joke.

"Look at it from a dispassionate point of view, Severus. What more appropriate jest for the head of Slytherin house than snakes? And classical snakes, to boot? I do believe you are being overly sensitive where you yourself are concerned. Think of poor Minerva. And Professor Liripipe."

Professor Liripipe had been lampooned as 'Littlewife,' with a drawing of her and her much larger husband, recalling what so many of the students had witnessed in Hogsmeade.

"What are you going to do about it?" Snape demanded. He was not, by this time, talking about the banner. Dumbledore had managed to dispose of the banner within two minutes of his own arrival in the Great Hall. No Snape, in his capacity as head of Slytherin house, was talking about Paul Hooper.

"Well, there we are faced with a quandary, Severus. Can you prove that it was, in fact, Hooper? If he is brought here and denies it, what can you offer to refute him? It is not as if you actually saw him put the banner up yourself."

"He's always there watching, trying to see what happens. The other boys congratulate him surreptitiously. It's as if the whole school knows who the culprit is except the teachers. It's one monstrous conspiracy!"

"Then I would suggest interviewing his house mates to see if any of them are willing to be witnesses. If you have no evidence, you have no case."

The interviews didn't go well. It wasn't so much that every student Snape talked to professed not to know the perpetrator of the prank, it was more that he sensed that every student did know and either enjoyed the perplexity of the teachers, or was afraid to reveal Hooper's identity. Snape kept coming up against a brick wall.

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	2. Chapter 2 – 1983 – 1984 2

WARNING! : One of the reviewers has chosen to post a spoiler in the reviews. If you do not wish to know the ending in advance, do not read the reviews.

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**Severus Snape: The Middle Years – The Third Year, 1983-1984 (2)**

_Friday to Saturday, November 4 - 5, 1983_

It was in this context that the first Quidditch game of the season was to be played. In accordance with long tradition, the game would be between Slytherin and Gryffindor, and Snape asked to speak with Dumbledore and McGonagall the day before the match. It was Friday evening – usually a time of relaxation, but at this particular moment one of great anxiety.

"I do wish you'd stop pacing like that, Severus," said McGonagall. "You're making me dizzy."

"How can you sit there so calmly when potential disaster is looming around the corner?" was Snape's reply. "Something – mark my words – something evil is going to happen tomorrow! And it's going to be Paul Hooper's fault!"

"I'll admit," rejoined McGonagall, "that we have one or more practical jokers of considerable talent and little judgment in the school right now, but why do you think we need to worry about the Quidditch game? And why that boy in particular."

At his desk, Dumbledore simply observed the exchange, his fingers steepled in front of his chin as he contemplated the remarkable scene of Snape accusing, while McGonagall defended, a Slytherin student.

"Look," said Snape in frustration, "have you honestly considered the skill and determination that have been unleashed here? We're talking about someone, whoever it might be, with the ability to circumvent the perimeter security and smuggle a previously unknown goat onto the grounds. For crying out loud, you can't hide a goat under your cloak! Then he manages to get close enough to a cage of clabberts to feed them caffeine and let them out of the cage without anyone seeing him and without a single clabbert laying a finger on him. And no trace of magic in the room! Could you do that? And the banner? How do you get a banner that size up at a time when the Hall is being decorated for Halloween, and nobody notices? We have a wizard of extraordinary power here, he has no sense of morality whatsoever, his Quidditch team is about to play against your Quidditch team, and you're not worried? I wish I had your sang-froid."

"You're sweet to be concerned, Severus," said McGonagall, "but I really don't think I need to worry."

To make matters worse, a whole crowd of former Hogwarts students came to watch the season's opening game the next day, among whom was Alastor Moody. Moody stumped his way over to the viewing stands where McGonagall and Snape sat separated by Flitwick and Sprout, and plunked himself down on the bench right behind Snape.

"Just wanted you to know I was still taking an interest," he said with a malicious grin. "Let's see if I can spot my favorite Slytherin student in the stands."

Sancho Folkenstone was, in fact, right in front, and it didn't help Snape's peace of mind to know that he had two problems to deal with that afternoon instead of one.

Then Moody did an amazing thing. He took out his wand, stood up, sent a stream of sparks into the air to attract attention, and pointed at the Slytherin stands.

"What the hell was that for?" Snape yelled at Moody, standing himself and turning to face the auror.

"Just letting him know I've got an eye on him," Moody smiled, pointing to the enchanted blue one.

"You leave my students alone, do you hear me! You have no business…!"

"Settle down, Severus," McGonagall advised. "You're attracting attention."

"He's threatening my students!"

"Don't be silly, of course he isn't, are you Alastor?"

"Just reminding someone to be on his best behavior. No need to get all huffy about it, Professor."

Snape glared back at Moody's real eye, the enchanted one still being fixed on the Slytherin stands. "I'll thank you," he said coldly, "not to interfere in my house, and not to harass my students."

"Suit yourself," Moody laughed. "Though by now I'd 've thought you'd be clutching at any offer of help you could get. Not many in your position would have the same fortitude. Should I tell Erick his son's finally learned to behave?"

"Erick?" Snape asked, now thoroughly bewildered, since he'd had the definite impression that Sancho's father was named Gonzalo.

"Erick Hooper. He's an auror, too. Saved my life once."

"You mean you're talking about Paul Hooper?"

"Who else would I be taking an interest in besides the son of an old friend?"

"Will you sit down?" McGonagall snapped, looking past Flitwick and Sprout, her mouth pursed into an irritated line. "In case you two haven't noticed, the game's started and people behind you are trying to see!"

Snape and Moody sat down, Snape now trying to sort out the sudden change in his perception of the situation. He turned in his seat to face Moody. "Why didn't you tell me this before?"

"I did. You got a kid from a Gryffindor family sorted into Slytherin house. I told you I was interested. Who'd you think I was talking about?"

"Nobody," Snape said hurriedly. "Does Paul generally have a tendency to get into trouble?"

Moody threw back his head and roared with laughter, drawing another glare from McGonagall. "Professor, that's the boy who set a whole nest of Brazilian fire ants loose in the atrium of the Ministry of Magic. Trouble's been his middle name since the day he started to crawl."

"How does he do it? I mean, do things without people catching him?"

"Oho! So he has been giving you trouble! I didn't think he'd turn into a little angel just because of a mistake in sorting. What's he done?"

Snape explained briefly about the goat, the clabberts, and the banner, without going into too much detail. By this time the other three heads of house were just as attentive as Moody was. "Are you telling us, Alastor," said McGonagall, "that Severus is right about the Hooper boy?"

"Right? Minerva, I'm surprised it's been so mild. He's got something brewing that's going to pop out at you when you least expect it that really will turn this place upside down. And he gets away with it because he's good with creatures and Confundus charms. Something he gets from his father."

The stands erupted in sudden cheering. "Who won?" asked McGonagall, looking around in surprise. "I wasn't paying attention."

"Neither was I," Snape said. "Did any of you see who won?"

As it turned out, Gryffindor won, but that was a relatively minor event in the grand scheme of things. Moody accompanied Snape and the other heads of houses up to Dumbledore's office where they sent for Master Hooper to join them. There, confronted with Moody's quite fascinating account of his previous escapades, one of which, to Snape's delight, involved Rufus Scrimgeour and a highly irritated doxy, Master Hooper confessed his sins and vowed to sin no more.

_At least not until you can do it without getting caught,_ Snape thought.

Life was quiet for a while. Life was, in fact, quite pleasant throughout the rest of November and into December and the rest of term. Paul Hooper was quiescent, the investigation into the puzzle of the Liripipe family had run into a temporary dead end, and the only outlet for Snape's excessive mental activity was the odd behavior of Professors Kettleburn and Dawson.

"Oh, Severus," Dawson called to him one Friday evening just after the middle of November as they were leaving the Great Hall.

Snape turned and waited until she caught up. "How may I be of assistance, Sapientia?" he asked. Professor Dawson and he seldom spoke, as she was one of the staff who commuted home to her family each evening as soon as the students were in their houses, and she was almost never at Hogwarts on weekends.

"I was wondering if I might pilfer your stores," Dawson said, and it seemed to Snape that she was blushing a little. "There are a couple of potions I've been working on, and I'm just a touch short. Would you mind?"

"Not at all. Anything for a colleague. Would you like to come down now – I was just going to inspect and lock up for the weekend."

"That would be wonderful. So kind of you."

In the upper dungeon area, Snape unlocked the classroom door, opened the cabinets, and motioned to the drawers that contained all the little bottles and flasks, leaving Dawson to select what she needed while he made sure all the braziers had cooled and put them back near the wall, and in general tidied up.

"That's about it," Dawson said after a few minutes. "It's just that there were one or two other…"

"I have some more things in my office," Snape said as he locked everything up. "They need to be kept away from the students. Come with me. You can see if what you need is there."

Once inside the dark, cool office, Snape lit the lamps and started a fire. Then he went into his bedroom while Dawson inspected the shelves and took what she needed. She thanked him and left.

What Dawson did not know was that Snape had everything inventoried down to the gram, and curiosity affects more than cats. _Besides, I have to see if I need to reorder anything._ It didn't take long. Not only had Dawson taken the ingredients for Amortentia and other love potions, but also herbs needed to improve… performance, and to act as contraceptives.

_Fairly common things. Now what was that all about? Unless she didn't want every apothecary in Diagon Alley to know what she was buying._

Next was Kettleburn, who accosted Snape at breakfast on a Sunday morning when there were very few people in the Hall. Normally Kettleburn wasn't there either, since he was another commuter, and his presence at seven o'clock on a Sunday was enough to make anyone suspicious.

"You told me something a few weeks ago that I wanted to check with you. About muggle identification. You need that in a hotel or a bank, or other places?"

"Generally, why?"

Kettleburn coughed, thereby gaining himself several seconds of thinking time. "I have this bet with an old friend that I can spend an entire day, noon to noon, acting like a muggle without making anyone suspect anything."

"Good luck," said Snape. "You're going to need it."

"No, seriously, about the identification. Do you have that?"

"Of course. I have a bank account."

"Could I…?"

Snape reached into his robes and pulled out a thin wallet. Inside were several rectangles of plastic and paper, some with his own name and some with other names.

"The picture is a little static, isn't it?"

"Muggle pictures don't move."

"You gave them your real name? But whose names are on these cards?"

"Of course I gave them my real name," Snape replied, a little irritated. "I'm a real person in the muggle world. I even have a birth certificate. The others are business cards. That's my banker, and that's…"

"I can see this is complicated," Kettleburn said with a sigh.

Kettleburn was back at the end of November to ask more questions, about shaking hands and writing with muggle pens, about menus in restaurants and tipping taxi drivers, and about hotels. This time the story about the bet was more detailed, but he wasn't fooling anyone, especially not Snape.

"And in the morning, when you make your bed, do you…"

"You don't make your own bed in a hotel. The maid does it for you."

"The maid?"

"Everything about keeping the room clean and in order is done daily by a maid while you're out of the room."

"Everything?"

"Cleaning the bathroom, changing the towels, making the beds, vacuuming…"

"So they can see everything you have and notice if there's something strange?"

"I suppose so, though I don't know why you're so worried. This must be some bet."

"It is. Thanks, Severus. I owe you one."

Dawson came the first week in December with – muggle magazines.

"I know it in general, Severus. It's the nuances I want to get down. I mean, there are some things you can wear to both a business meeting and a cocktail party, but others that are just for business or just for the party…"

So they went through pages and pages of men's and women's clothes, from tuxedos to three piece suits ("I don't think anyone wears bowler hats anymore.") to sweaters, to ball gowns, to blue jeans, to…

"You don't need to show that to the students," said Snape, glancing away and turning a rather endearing shade of pink. "I can only imagine a woman wearing that on her husband's birthday…"

"Oh," Dawson said, reddening herself. "Yes, I see what you mean."

Then, just before the Christmas break…

"…what Severus says…"

It is a most peculiar phenomenon, but it matters not where you are, nor the volume of the noise around you, nor the softness with which the words are spoken – you always hear your own name. Snape paused on the stairs between the third and second floors wondering where the words had come from. What he heard was muffled and indistinct, and he caught only some of the conversation.

"…dear, are you sure? Couldn't we just…" A woman's voice. Snape was sure it was Professor Dawson.

Then unmistakably Kettleburn. "…of the scandal if we were caught, and me from an old pureblood…"

"Shh! You'll attract attention. Did you bring the material? We need to study the rituals, the duties, the rites. We can't have them suspect that we're novices…" The rest was obscured by the rustle of parchment – no, not parchment – paper!

"Why don't we ask Severus more? He's an expert in this, too, you know…" Kettleburn sounded nervous.

Dawson's voice was sharp. "And much better than the designated professor? I agree…" They seemed to move away for it became harder to hear them. "No. I'll ask him…, but not something like this… Too dangerous…"

"…discreet about it…"

"…necessarily virgin?"

"They told me it was best."

"…problem with the identity… solved it now…"

Then there were voices from below, students coming up the stairs, and Kettleburn and Dawson were gone.

Christmas break began the way Christmas break always began – on Sunday morning the entire staff, even the commuting teachers, was there to be sure the students made it to the train in one piece with all their necessary equipment. Kettleburn was helping with the students of Slytherin house while Dawson assisted Professor Sprout, and it may have been Snape's imagination, but they seemed to meet quite often in the entrance hall.

After the last student had sent the last piece of luggage down and boarded the last thestral carriage, the staff assembled in the entrance hall so that Professor Dumbledore could wish them all a pleasant break and a happy New Year. As they finally separated and each went his or her own way, Snape overheard Dumbledore say to Kettleburn, "You be careful in Malaysia, now, Maximilian. I once heard a story about a man who became intoxicated and fell into a ditch. It was not deep enough for him to drown, but by the time they found him, his blood had been drained by the leeches."

Kettleburn laughed. "I'll be sure to get intoxicated only where I'm far away from ditches."

"You do that, Max. You do that." A few minutes later, Dumbledore said to Professor Dawson, "I look forward to hearing about the Amazon, Sapientia. I have been there more than once myself, but they tell me that it has changed."

"I'll tell you all the details, sir," Dawson replied, and then she was gone and the crowd pretty much all departed.

Snape managed to put himself near Dumbledore. "So Professor Kettleburn is taking his family to Malaysia for Christmas?"

"Ah, no," responded Dumbledore. "Mrs. Kettleburn is staying in England, and Maximilian is going alone. It is more in the line of duty and has to do, as I understand, with the preservation of an endangered spider. I did not ask for details."

"Lucky man, to be going on holiday. As lucky as Professor Dawson and her husband."

"There again, Severus, I fear Sapientia is on more of a working holiday. Something to do with Amazonian tribal beliefs."

"I see," said Snape, who rather feared he saw all too well. "Speaking of which, would you mind if I took a few days off during the break?"

"Whatever for?"

"I was thinking of checking the lost and found on the Isle of Skye."

"A most excellent idea. But who will look after Slytherin house while you are gone? Heads are supposed to remain, you know."

"My seventh-year prefect, Lionel Atherton, is staying to work on his NEWT subjects. There are only three younger students staying as well. Lionel could report to you. He's very dependable."

"That sounds satisfactory. Do let me know just before you leave."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

xxxxxxxxxx

_Wednesday, December 21, 1983_

Normally the fact that the Isle of Skye could be reached from the mainland only by boat or ferry would not pose a problem for a wizard, but Snape wasn't certain that the Liripipes had stayed in a wizard establishment during their honeymoon. Nor was he certain that they'd stayed in Portree. That meant that Snape needed a car. It would not do for a gent with a Lancashire accent to come strolling into an inn in say, Uig or Struan and claim to have walked all the way from Fort William.

Dumbledore was funding the trip, so Snape changed a considerable number of galleons in Gringotts, apparated to Scotland, and rented a car in Glasgow, the driver's license being one of the pieces of identification that Kettleburn had examined in November. (As a young teenager Snape's father had allowed him behind the wheel for short stints on deserted country roads, thus he had not been totally unfamiliar with the process when he sat for his driving test some years earlier. Admittedly, he had not been the best driver ever tested, but the examiner seemed to think him adequate enough to pass the test. There are advantages to being a wizard.) The longest part of the trip was the line of cars waiting to board the crowded little ferry between Kyle of Lochalsh and Kyleakin. _Somebody ought to build a bridge here_, Snape thought as he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.

Disembarking at last in Kyleakin, Snape drove north into Portree. It was well after dark, since this far north in the darkest time of the year the sun set close to three-thirty in the afternoon and rose again at a quarter to nine. He checked into a little hotel near both the water and the center of town and began his work. Snape was committing a crime. He was impersonating a police detective. Scotland Yard, to be specific.

The most peculiar thing about the Liripipe wedding was that it had taken the wizarding world by complete surprise, and no one had seemed to be aware of it until after the newlyweds returned to London. Snape therefore reasoned that they had avoided the wizards of Skye and secluded themselves in the muggle community. That was his starting point. Luckily, it was off-season, with a scant number of visitors and plenty of time to talk to people, the first being the clerk at the hotel desk, an older man who had probably been there for far longer than the ten years Snape needed. A quick question confirmed that the man owned the hotel, and had worked there since a young man, as it was a family business.

"Would you mind looking at a photograph and see if you recognize any of the people?" Snape took the picture from his wallet. It was a Ministry photograph of a small awards ceremony attended by both Mr. and Mrs. Liripipe. Snape had told the subjects of the picture to stand still for a moment and had photographed the photograph with a muggle camera. It was now quite staid and motionless.

"Costume party, eh?" the man at the desk commented.

"Something like that."

The man was not forthcoming. "Who are you to be asking me about my customers?"

Snape pulled out the card that identified him as working for Scotland Yard. It was the only one he carried that he'd magicked. The man studied it for a moment, scanned Snape's long, dark hair and winter jacket, then grunted. "You don't look like a policeman."

"Not all of us wear uniforms," Snape replied. "I do have to tell you, however, that I really am on holiday, and this isn't official business, so you don't have to answer me if you don't want to. I'm helping a friend."

"I wouldn't be any help if it was official. I don't know any of them. You might try the Royal, or any of the other places." He gave Snape a piece of paper with a printed map of the town, circling a couple of spots where there were other small hotels, and Snape stepped out into the cold dark of early evening to continue his search. _And I don't even know if they stayed in Portree._

The fourth place Snape visited was a little hotel on Wentworth Street, its exterior natural stone and its interior simple but warm and cozy. Here the clerk at the desk, probably also a member of the family that owned the establishment, asked if he could be of assistance. Snape showed him the picture.

"I've never seen any of them, but someone else may have." He opened the door into the office. "Mother, here's a gentleman who wants to know if we recognize a photograph."

A much older woman appeared, smiled politely as she glanced at the picture, then turned to Snape with a more hostile look. "What do you want with her?" she asked coldly.

"You do recognize one of the people then? Are you sure? It was ten years ago."

"'T isn't something you forget." She handed the photograph back to him.

Snape felt the adrenaline begin to seep into his system as the room around him clarified and focused with anticipation. "Why? What happened?"

"Nothing happened. They stayed a night, then they left. But I'm not helping you find her." There was now no doubt whatever that the woman regarded him as an enemy.

"I'm not looking for her," Snape said quickly. "I know where she is. I'm trying to locate something for her."

"Is she still with him?"

"No. She's with friends. She wants to leave for good, but she…"

"Needs something." The woman nodded. Behind her, her son looked totally confused. "I can't help you with that, but I remember they were going to the eastern side of Skye. They wanted to hire a car. I sent them down to Tim Macleod. He might be able to tell you." She jotted an address on a piece of paper.

"Do you think he'll remember?" Snape asked.

"How could he forget?"

Macleod owned a bookshop several doors down, and a sign in the window proclaimed that he also had a car for hire to see the island. Snape walked in to the tinkle of a bell on the door above his head, and an older man came out from the back. This time Snape was not at all surprised by his reaction.

"Why are you looking for her?" Macleod asked, knowing immediately which person in the photograph was the subject of Snape's search.

"How do you know it's her? It was more than ten years ago." Snape retorted.

"Can't be but the one." Macleod paused, then laughed harshly. "You're what? Twenty-five? Young people don't know anything anymore. Old people like me, we know. There's strange things in this world, lad. There's some things so rare a man never expects to see even one in his lifetime. When he does, ten years, twenty years, it doesn't matter. He remembers."

"Where did you take them?" Snape asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

'Where' was a thatched stone farmhouse just past Dunvegan. Snape waited until dawn lightened the southeastern sky the next morning before setting out on the northern road toward Uig. In the space of about fifteen minutes out of Portree, he passed a total of five cars going in the other direction. _What is this? Rush hour on the Isle of Skye?_ After veering left to go westward, however, traffic eased up, and Snape saw no one else on the road to Edinbane.

The coastline of Skye varies from rocky inlets, to hills guarding pockets of habitable seashore, to spectacular vertical cliffs, yet much of the interior of the island is rolling farm and moor country. This gentler land, so delicately green in the summer, was now patched with dustings of snow and frost, but nothing that hindered Snape in his drive. This was fortunate, for at this moment the last thing Snape wanted was to have to use magic. Polydore Liripipe visited Skye periodically as part of his job, and Snape did not want to alert potential friends and colleagues of the unpleasant Polydore to his presence, especially since the local wizarding community seemed less connected to Professor Liripipe than the muggle community was.

It took but a moment to pass through the peaceful fishing village of Edinbane with its neat, white cottages, and then on to the village of Dunvegan. There was a castle here, but Snape had no time to play tourist, taking instead the road south and slowing down to nearly a crawl so as not to miss the single track road leading out onto the almost uninhabited Duirinish Peninsula and the tiny, ancient croft Macleod had described to him. The road was on the right, a good mile past Dunvegan, and Snape pulled off onto the narrow way. After a while he saw the croft to his left.

You don't sneak up on a rural farmhouse. Whoever lived there heard the sound of the car and knew when he turned off the road. The croft had been 'modernized' at some point in the past, and therefore had a stone chimney and, on either side of the door, narrow windows through whose curtains a face peered and then vanished. Before Snape got to the door, it opened, and a hunched old woman wrapped in shawls hustled him inside before she lost the interior warmth to the winter air.

"Are you cold, dearie?" the woman said. "Sit. I'll get you a cup of tea. Just let me put the kettle on the fire." Which she quite literally did, the fire in question being the hearth fire and the kettle being a small iron cauldron rather than a tea kettle with a spout. For light the woman had the windows, and a candle in a holder for after dark.

The modernization had gone so far as to hang a ceiling under the thatch, and a large curtain could divide the interior into two spaces, one with the table where Snape now sat, and the other a bedroom area with a large, comfortable-looking bed. The two 'rooms' were sparsely but adequately furnished with cupboards, chairs, rugs – it was, in fact, both modest and charming. The old woman clearly took pride in her simple domestic arrangements. She also clearly craved company.

The old woman, whose name was Mrs. MacLeod (half of Skye, it seemed, was named MacLeod or a variant thereof) , assumed that Snape was lost, and was determined to feed him tea and scones with a dab of butter and a lot of conversation. She had him nailed as a southerner from the moment he opened his mouth to thank her and plied him with questions about Portree, Lancashire, and London. Snape's initial irritation faded as he began to realize the degree of loneliness someone in her position might suffer on a long winter day. And so he talked.

He talked about the ferry from Kyle of Lochalsh and the restaurant in Portree. He talked about the hotel and the bookstore, and the cars on the road to Uig. Then he told her of renting the car in Glasgow, and from there they moved south to London and the Christmas season, and how were the Prince and Princess and their little baby boy? Then, after entertaining Mrs. MacLeod for the better part of an hour, Snape showed her the picture.

Mrs. MacLeod's cheerful round countenance saddened as she looked at the face, the one face among all the others that she, too, recognized immediately. "Och, the dear lady," she said softly. "Aye, they were here for two weeks, and she going up to gaze out on the loch and the water every day, it like to have broken a heart of stone."

"Did he treat her badly?"

"Oh, no! He was always trying to find some way to cheer her, bringing her gifts and sweet-talking her into a smile. Mind, I wasn't here all day, it wouldn't have been proper with them on their honeymoon and all, but I stayed with my sister and came by each morning to straighten up and cook, and we talked, she and I. No, she was content as his wife, but they can't help but be sad, can they? It's the sea longing. When I was young, you know, I didn't half believe it, but the croft's been blessed by her being here, and I still feel the blessing in my bones. But they can't help but be sad. Has she gone back home now? Is that why he's looking for her, the poor man?"

"Mrs. MacLeod," Snape said, "you'll have to explain this to me because, southerner that I am, I don't understand. What sea longing? And where's her home?"

"How can you look at her eyes and not understand? Haven't you seen the same in every seal pup that was ever born? Her home's the sea, lad. She's a seal maiden who loved a mortal man and forsook the sea for his sake. But no matter how strong the love, they're always sad. It's the sea longing."

Windows opened and light poured in, and Snape suddenly recalled the day he'd seen Professor Liripipe swimming in the lake – how she'd risen from the water and dived smoothly back under like a fish, like a seal – like a selkie.

Snape, driving back to Portree that afternoon, was furious. No matter how often Mrs. MacLeod assured him of the tenderness of Polydore Liripipe, Snape knew that the only way a land mortal could snare a selkie was to take her skin. Selkies were shapeshifters, after a fashion. Seal-like creatures of the sea, they could venture onto land by shedding their skin, an act which gave them human form. They returned to the sea by donning the seal skin again. The means by which a human could hold a selkie was to steal and hide the skin. The selkie, unable to return to the sea, became the human's slave.

This particular selkie had, for ten years, been the slave of Polydore Liripipe, forced to exist on land, away from her home and people, and forced to bear his children – children who would follow her back into the sea if ever she found a way to free herself from bondage. Mrs. MacLeod insisted that Liripipe loved his wife. _Love! What kind of love is based on servitude?_

Mrs. MacLeod knew something else, however. She alone had spoken both daily and privately to Beatrice Liripipe. She alone knew where Beatrice Liripipe had met her husband. She alone could point to a specific spot. She alone could give Snape a name – a jigsaw-puzzle-piece shaped island in the Orkneys called Stronsay. On Stronsay, just by St. Catherine's Bay.

Polydore Liripipe had, apparently, stumbled on a selkie maiden on St. Catherine's beach. He had seized her skin and forced her to marry him. The skin had to be hidden somewhere, somewhere probably close to Stronsay.

Snape spent the night in Portree, then left early on Friday to catch the first ferry back to the mainland of Scotland. In Fort William at midday, he was able to drop off the rented car and search the local bookstores for maps and pictures of the Orkneys. By early afternoon he'd bought the perfect book.

Before sunset, Snape apparated to Kirkwall on The Mainland, the largest of the Orkney islands. Far bigger than Portree, Kirkwall had several largish hotels, and Snape checked into one on the water front whose whitewashed walls reminded him of the buildings on Skye.

The next morning, Snape apparated to Stronsay.

Stronsay turned out to be a disappointment because of its dearth of places that could be used for natural concealment. The beaches and the waters were pristine and clear, and the overarching sky from horizon to horizon was liberating and exhilarating, and though Snape could easily imagine that Polydore Liripipe may have first spied his selkie bride here, he could find no place where the seal skin could have remained hidden for more than ten years.

Back in Kirkwall, Snape locked himself in his hotel room and immersed himself in his book. In the end he concluded that if the seal skin was still in the Orkneys, there was only one island it could be on – Hoy.

Hoy was different from all the other islands of the Orkneys for its great cliffs and rugged terrain. Any person, able to apparate and looking for a location nearby to Stronsay, would go to Hoy. The major problem with Hoy was that there were too many places where a selkie's skin might be concealed. Snape looked around the island and admitted temporary defeat.

That afternoon, he apparated back to Hogwarts.

xxxxxxxxxx

_Friday, December 23, 1983 – evening._

"You're in her confidence. You must have known all of this all along." Snape was pacing back and forth in Dumbledore's office trying to control his ire.

"I beg to differ with you, Severus. There are many things about this situation that I do not know." Dumbledore, true to custom, was pouring Snape a glass of mead.

"You mean she didn't tell you she's from Stronsay and honeymooned on the Duirinish Peninsula?"

"Not a word of it. I am not certain, at least not entirely certain, how much of it is due to simple nervousness and fear, or how much of it is due to certain magical prohibitions that govern the servitude of the selkies to their skinmasters, but she has told me almost nothing. I rather guessed she was from the Orkneys, but had no way to know that she was caught there or what transpired on Skye. You, Severus, have filled in many of the blank places."

"I'm pleased, headmaster, that it wasn't all for nothing."

Snape's sarcastic note was not lost on Dumbledore, who turned to his Potions master with some concern. " None of it was 'for nothing,' I assure you, Severus. You have verified her story, if nothing else. You have unbiased witnesses to her unique qualities. You have identified the place of her capture and the possible location of her shapeshifting skin. This is not bad for just under three days' work." He handed Snape a glass of mead.

Somewhat mollified, Snape took the mead and sipped it. "All right, let's assume that everything I've discovered is true. What do we do with the information?"

"The first thing is that we keep it to ourselves. Professor Liripipe would be most uncomfortable if she were aware that you knew her secret. Added to that, any hint that our Defense against the Dark Arts teacher was not a witch..."

"She can't do magic?"

"No, Severus, she cannot. Fortunately, so far, no situation has come up in the classroom where she would have to. But a rumor that she is not a witch would jeopardize her position here. I have been employing a muggle ritual ever since the year began. I have been keeping my fingers crossed that Professor Kettleburn will not notice the magical creature in our midst."

Snape coughed. "He's been… somewhat preoccupied with other matters. I don't think you have to worry about him."

"That is good to hear. I shall still keep my fingers crossed, however. It may have been precisely that which caused him to be preoccupied. Another vital concern is that Polydore Liripipe have no inkling that we are aware of anything untoward. If he has the slightest suspicion that we might hunt for Professor Liripipe's skin, he will move it and hide it far more securely. Our biggest hope in the search is that it is still in its originally hiding place, and therefore still within the Orkney islands. Right now, Polydore does not know that we know. He will not expose her secret, as that would expose him as a slave holder. Right now we are at a stage of awkward but stable equilibrium. When we actually go after the skin, that could change."

"When can we go? Clearly, Headmaster, you don't think now a good time."

Dumbledore peered at Snape over his glasses. "Just how, precisely, did you consider going about it? Were you planning to scour every square inch of the island of Hoy, pausing at fifty-foot intervals to brandish your wand and shout _'Accio sealskin,'_ drawing attention to yourself and alerting the locals?"

"No, sir."

"There, a sensible answer. We must come up with a means of locating a magical item concealed, most probably by magical means."

"Wouldn't it have degraded by now?"

"A selkie's skin is impermeable to…"

"No, the magic."

"I shall forgive you for interrupting me only because the hunt is up. You are most likely correct. A wizard such as Polydore would not be able to install magical guards that would maintain their power after ten years, though he might not be aware of that. If the original protections are still there, they are probably degraded."

Snape returned to the library, studying first everything he could about selkies and learning that the skin they sought would be about the same size and a little lighter than a cloak, and probably folded in a small bundle. Then he studied maps of the Orkneys, and of Hoy in particular, all fifty-five square miles of its cliffs and hills, and began to get discouraged. _How, even if the skin is on Hoy – and there's no guarantee of that – are we ever going to find it?_

The new term started in January. Kettleburn and Dawson returned from wherever they'd been, less discreet than ever, and Snape, to his irritation, frequently saw them with their heads together, hiding behind the copies of the Guardian that Kettleburn continued to borrow.

Truth be told, Snape regarded the pair as prime examples of what was wrong with all humankind. Here they were, professionals supposedly dedicated to the education of the young, and they were behaving as irresponsibly as a couple of teenagers. Snape had met Kettleburn's wife, and he knew that Dawson was married as well. Watching the two of them, working on the problem of the unhappy marriage of the Liripipes, Snape found his attitude toward the whole business of love, matrimony, and mutual relationships souring to the point of bitterness, and was heartily thankful that he was free of any such ties.

All January and into February, Snape worked with charms of hiding and discovery. The key to success was to slip in undetected, locate the skin with a minimum of fuss, recover it without alerting anyone, and get Professor Liripipe back to the sea before her husband was aware that anything had happened. What he was going to do if the skin was not on Hoy was something Snape didn't care to think about.

The weekend before Valentine's Day was a Hogsmeade excursion, and Snape was assigned supervision duty. Mindful that he'd made an enemy on the previous occasion he'd gone to Hogsmeade, Snape was careful to watch his back, keeping eyes and ears open for any trace of Polydore Liripipe. It was also no surprise that Moody was there, a sinister presence lurking in the background of Snape's awareness.

When trouble came, however, it came not from Liripipe, who never appeared, nor from Moody. It came from Hogwarts. Snape was relaxing over a glass of elf wine in the Three Broomsticks when Lionel Atherton came bursting in.

"Professor!" he called. "Professor Snape! The Headmaster wants you to go back to the castle at once. Every owl in the place has gone crazy!"

Snape was not the only one. He didn't count Moody, who tagged along behind, but Dumbledore had sent for Kettleburn and Hagrid as well and, during the trek up the hill to the castle, they had a chance to see what the juxtaposition of 'owl' and 'crazy' meant in real terms.

Hundreds of owls had departed the owlery in the west tower and were spread throughout the grounds. They perched on trees, large bushes, signposts, Quidditch stands, turrets, and gutters. They loved gutters. The eaves of Hogwarts were replete with owls. Yet if perching were all, there would be no phenomenon. The perching owls were in constant motion. They appeared to be trying to hide behind each other.

Owls snuck between owls to conceal themselves, knocking other owls off to flutter, soar, and seek a new berth. Owls scrabbled on slate-shingled roofs, slipped, and bumped into other owls, who toppled off and screeched in frustration. Owls beat vain wings against casement windows, slipped through unguarded doors, hid in the thestral carriages in the carriage house and, once inside the castle, crouched behind suits of armor or pretended to be a hat on the statue of Dirk the Daffy.

"Well?" said Dumbledore, who met the little group in the entrance hall, where first and second year students were trying to persuade the owls to go back outside with little success. "Do we have any ideas or suggestions?"

"Headmaster," Snape said with studied calm. "I know why you sent for Hagrid and Professor Kettleburn, but why me? This isn't a potions matter."

Dumbledore peered over his glasses. "Rumor has it that you have already demonstrated a great natural talent. Something about a goat. In any case, you are here, Severus, so we may as well have the benefit of your wisdom and experience, too."

"If you ask me," Hagrid said, "I'd say they was scared of something."

"But what is there to be scared of?"

Hagrid thought about this for a moment. Then he stomped outside and gazed around at the sky. Snape followed him and looked where Hagrid was looking. All he could see, circling over the lake, was one hawk, medium size.

"Would they be afraid of the hawk?" Snape asked Hagrid.

"Shouldn't be. Owls 'd mob a hawk sometimes. And that one ain't big enough t' be a threat t' the larger owls. I'm going up t' the owlery. You coming?"

Snape agreed immediately, and while Kettleburn tried to coax an owl out from under the main staircase so he could examine it, and while Dumbledore and Moody chatted in the entrance hall, Snape and Hagrid climbed up to the seventh floor and from there into the west tower and the owlery.

The great cylinder of the owlery, with its hundreds of perches rising up into the dimness of the tower, its floor covered in straw to absorb the droppings and regurgitated bones, was empty of life. Every single owl had departed, and it appeared they had departed in a hurry, for around the door and the various window slits were newly scattered feathers where owls had fought each other in their panic to escape.

Snape had never been in the owlery, never having had anyone to send an owl to since his grandmother died, and he stepped carefully around Hagrid and walked into the center of the tower, looking up at the ancient beams and rafters that were home to so many owls.

The attack came out of nowhere – beaks open wide in fierce predator screams, strong wings pummeling him with vicious blows, talons tearing at his hair and skin. Snape flailed wildly with his arms, trying to protect himself from the great raptors that strove to rend his flesh, devour him. He fell to the floor, rolling in the straw, beating back the birds – and then he was outside the owlery, with Hagrid holding his arms. The owlery was empty, and Hagrid was looking at him with concern.

"What just happened t' you?" Hagrid asked. "You was walking all calm like, and then of a sudden you was fighting something, but there wasn't nothing there."

"I'm going back in," Snape said. "If I start to fight again, pull me back just a little to get me out of the spell. I think I know what happened. I think it's a Confundus Charm."

The spell was in the center of the owlery, and probably rose on a vertical axis right up to the roof. Every owl it touched would have raced for the window slits, communicating fear to the others. It was as if the owlery had been invaded by hundreds of ravenous eagles. Snape and Hagrid hurried back down to the entrance hall to tell Dumbledore. This, it turned out, was a job for Professor Flitwick, dispelling charms being a specialty of his.

"Who do you think did it?" Kettleburn asked of no one in particular after Flitwick had been fetched and sent upstairs. "And how did he get in and out of the owlery without being spotted."

Snape glared at Moody as if Moody was personally responsible. "I still haven't worked out the how yet, though the fact that almost everyone was in Hogsmeade would have helped, but I have a really good idea who. Who do we know that's good both with animals and with confusion charms?"

It was Dumbledore's turn to look at Moody. "Alastor, would you be so kind as to see if you could locate Master Hooper and bring him to my office? He has some explaining to do."

Flitwick got to Dumbledore's office first, presenting Dumbledore with fragments of a broken glass vial and an innocent-looking, or rather on second glance a somewhat gruesome looking dead mouse.

"The spell was cursed into the mouse, and the mouse encased in glass," Flitwick explained. "When the vial was thrown or dropped, the glass broke, thus releasing the mouse and the spell it was charmed to project. Simple, if you're good at these kinds of spells, but quite ingenious."

Then Moody returned, bringing not one but two, for perched on Hooper's heavily gloved fist, bells on its jesses and a tiny leather hood topped with bright feathers over its head, was the hawk that had been soaring above the lake. This particular hawk, Snape noted, was a peregrine falcon. The pieces were beginning to fit together.

"Ah, Master Hooper. I desire to have a word with you." Dumbledore allowed Hooper to see the glass and dead mouse on his desk before asking him directly, "Are these your handiwork?"

"Sure," Hooper replied, not the slightest bit abashed. "You found them sooner than I thought you would."

"So you admit to having placed them in the owlery?"

"No, sir. I didn't put them there."

"But the idea was yours, and the impulse to carry it out was yours, regardless of which creature transported the item."

"Yes, sir."

"Why, Master Hooper? What possible right could you have to terrify the school's owls, disrupt their peaceful existence, and generate extra labor for the rest of us?"

"I wanted to see if he'd do it," was Hooper's enigmatic reply.

"If who would do what?" asked Dumbledore.

"If Randir would do what I asked. If he'd take something and put it where I told him. It had to make something change, otherwise I wouldn't know for sure."

"You were testing the falcon?"

"Yes, sir."

"Master Hooper, do you realize that you stand now in jeopardy of expulsion from this school for your cruel and irresponsible… You spoke, Severus?"

Snape had coughed. It wasn't a loud cough, but it was one of those 'could we discuss this before you do something irreversible' coughs that usually attracted Dumbledore's attention rather quickly.

"Sir, is it really Paul's fault if he got dropped on his head when he was a baby?" Snape asked.

"I didn't get dropped…"

"I beg your pardon?" Dumbledore cut Hooper off, watching Snape keenly.

"Forgive me, but recent research shows that children who suffer head injuries as infants often mature with an inadequate ability to empathize with others. In addition, I am…"

"Yes, Severus?"

"His head of house. Should not his discipline rest in my hands?"

Their eyes met, and Dumbledore smiled. "You are quite correct, Severus. As his head of house, it is for you to determine his punishment. I do hope you have something appropriate in mind."

"Very appropriate, Headmaster. Thank you. Master Hooper, would you come with me?"

"Wait a minute!" Moody exclaimed. "You can't just turn the boy over…"

"It is none of your concern, Alastor. Young Paul is Severus's responsibility and…"

"But he's going to…"

"I am certain he is going to do nothing of the kind, Alastor. This is, after all an internal matter and you…"

Neither Snape nor Hooper heard the rest, for Snape beckoned Hooper out of Dumbledore's office, and Hooper exhibited no reluctance to leaving Moody with Dumbledore. Together they walked down the staircases toward the dungeons.

At about the third floor, Snape finally spoke. "Tell me, Hooper, what else have you trained this bird to do?"

"Train?" said Hooper. "I didn't train it. I just ask it to do things, and it does them or it doesn't."

"You mean you speak falcon?"

Hooper giggled. "Nobody speaks falcon. Falcons don't have a language. Are you one of those people who thinks snakes talk?"

Snape ignored the question. "How do you communicate with the bird, then?"

"I look at it, and it looks at me, and I think what I want it to do, and it says yes or no." Hooper spoke as if only an idiot wouldn't have guessed that long ago.

_Great. I have a student who practices legilimency with animals, and he thinks only morons can't do the same. Steady, Severus._ "What did you ask it to do this time?"

"To take that glass bottle into the owlery and drop it. It sure stirred up the owls, didn't it?"

"It did indeed. How long have you had this falcon?"

"I found it in the forest last week."

You've tamed a wild falcon to jesses and a hood in a week. It follows your orders after a week. "Do you think you could ask it to do anything else?"

"Like what?"

"Oh, maybe find something."

"You lose anything, Professor?"

"Not me, but a friend. Could you do it?"

"If I knew sort of where it was and sort of what it looked like, I could ask. You want me to ask?"

"Not yet. I need to do some research first. It could get you out of detention."

"Pff. Who cares about detention? I like to work with Randir, though."

"Consider it a deal."

Snape let Hooper go back to Slytherin house with the falcon. He himself went to his office and private quarters to check the book on the Orkneys. Among the native species there were falcons – Merlins and Peregrines. Snape was beginning to get an idea.

The first goal was to enlist the boy's sympathies. Snape couldn't remember any strong feelings for his own professors, many of whom were now his colleagues, but then he'd had other things to worry about. Like werewolves.

"How are your classes, Hooper?" Snape asked, cornering Hooper after breakfast the next day, a Sunday.

"They're okay."

"What's your favorite class?"

"Not yours."

_Steady, Severus._ "Why not?"

"You're mean." Hooper paused to think. "Really mean."

Snape bristled. "And don't you ever forget it. I'm the Wicked Wizard of the West. I'll chew you up and spit you out as soon as look at you. Are there any classes you like?"

Hooper wasn't intimidated. "Not Herbology. You can't talk to plants, and Professor Sprout's too motherish. Not Astronomy. The stars are too far away. Not boring old History of Magic. Has anyone ever tried an exorcism? Charms and Transfiguration are okay, but Professor Flitwick's a midget, and Professor McGonagall's a prune. Professor Liripipe's okay. She has nice eyes."

From Hooper, that was almost a declaration of love. "How would you like to do something sneaky that would help Professor Liripipe?" Snape asked.

"How sneaky?"

"Really sneaky."

"Would it really help Professor Liripipe?"

"Yes, but she mustn't ever know."

"Wicked!"

For the next few weeks, Snape and Hooper spent considerable time working with the falcon Randir. As near as Snape could tell, Hooper used a form of legilimency with the bird that transmitted images rather than words and allowed the boy to project into the hawk's mind whatever Hooper wanted the falcon to do. Randir then chose to do it or not to do it. At first Snape worried that Randir's ability to refuse to do something might hinder them, but it soon turned out that the creature actually enjoyed the challenge of the tasks he was given, and looked forward to the sessions as a sort of game.

They started out by asking Randir to bring them common things, like pine cones or twigs. Then they shifted to unusual things, like quills and potions vials. As Randir improved, Snape began going out where neither the falcon nor Hooper could see him and hiding items. Hooper would then project the image of the item, and Randir would hunt for it. By the end of March, the hunts had become quite complex, with Snape sometimes spending hours looking for a hiding place, and the search branching out into the area around the lake, the forest, and even into Hogsmeade. Randir was developing the patience to keep up the search even if it extended over several days.

The next big step in the plan was set for the Easter break.

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"Why can't we use magic?" Hooper asked.

"We don't want anyone to know we're there. Magic can be detected and traced."

"We can't even apparate in?"

"No, too risky. Besides, you're underage. You can't apparate."

Hooper grinned. "You could take me."

"I told you, too risky. And how would Randir get there?"

"He could fly. He is a bird, you know."

"Don't get cheeky. You're not my only plan. I do have other options."

"Right, Professor. I'll keep that in mind."

The journey to the Orkneys turned out to be more complex than Snape had imagined. It was Hooper who first noticed the flaw.

"I can't tell him how to get there because I've never been there before."

Snape thought about this for a while. "Can he follow the ferry?"

"How long is the trip?"

"About six hours from Aberdeen."

"Isn't there any other ferry?"

"Not for cars. I don't think you want to walk from Stromness to Kirkwall."

Hooper thought about this for a moment. "What about a bicycle?"

"You don't know how to ride a bicycle!"

"No? Look, Professor, you're not the only one that sometimes wants to do things that can't be detected. I'll bet you don't know how to ride a bicycle, though."

It was not something that Snape was going to admit to. At some point before the actual beginning of the Easter break he was going to have to learn the bicycling art just so that Hooper wouldn't be able to make snide remarks about it. In the interests of maintaining professorial superiority, he apparated several times from Hogsmeade to Lancashire, purchasing a bicycle the first time and practicing on the country roads of his native region. By the time they were ready to leave for the far north of Scotland, Snape had the bicycle thing down pretty well. He'd only fallen off twice.

The beginning of April brought the Easter break. Students left Hogwarts for home, but Paul Hooper was not among them. That Sunday afternoon, Hooper gave instructions to Randir to meet him in Aberdeen, and then Snape and Hooper went into Hogsmeade. On the outskirts of the village, Hooper held on to Snape's robes and they, too, headed for Aberdeen by side-along apparation.

Nobody but Dumbledore knew where they had gone, or why.

Snape rented a car in Aberdeen and spent an hour and a half making it clear to Hooper why, from this point on, he was forbidden to use magic.

"You apparated into Kirkwall before."

"How do you know?"

"You told me. So if someone was going to notice magic, it was already done in December."

"But I didn't do anything in December except walk around streets, go to St. Catherine's Bay, and buy books."

"So if he was going to notice you, he already has."

"If he had any spies, he'd have noticed I didn't look anywhere."

"Except St. Catherine's Bay. You were sloppy in December."

It was at this point that Snape began to fully appreciate the caliber of his partner in crime. Hooper was right. If damage had been done, it had been done in December.

"But I was open and obvious in December. They'd have seen I didn't come anywhere close."

"You hope. For all you know, that skin is in Trinidad by now."

"If it is, maybe it enjoyed Carnival. How do you know about Trinidad, you pureblood brat?"

"I'm not an idiot." Hooper paused, malice glinting in his eyes. "And don't insult my mom."

It was Snape's turn to pause. "Are you sure you're not a fifty-five-year-old midget?" he finally asked. "You don't talk like an eleven-year-old. And I'm a half-blood, too."

"If you read your files, you'd know I was twelve in September. Dad or mom?"

"Dad. Do the other students in Slytherin know?"

"Nah. They can be pretty dumb. Did they know about you?"

"Yeah, first day. I didn't know about houses and let slip my dad'd gone to muggle schools."

"Rotten luck," Hooper said. "Slytherins can be nasty."

"Tell me about it."

With that, they bonded. Snape would protect Hooper with his last breath, and Hooper would idolize Snape for the rest of his life. The conversation quickly changed its focus.

"So where do we get the bicycles?" Hooper asked.

"I say be obvious about driving up from Aberdeen, find a place to leave the car, take the ferry, and rent bicycles in Stromness. We have a perfectly good story that way. It'll cost more to rent the bikes in Scrabster, so getting them in Stromness won't be a problem. We'll take them to Hoy, but whether or not we really need them there will depend on Randir. The bikes are more a cover story."

The drive north to Scrabster was bountiful in its exchange of confidences.

"They say you were a… you know… death eater."

"They say a lot of things. They say there's a monster in Loch Ness."

"Is it true?"

"What is truth? Truth is that there are a large number of fakes in the world. Truth is that people will believe the worst because it's juicier. Truth is that you botched your spring Potions exam by putting Wartcap Powder into a Pepperup Potion."

"I was hoping you planned to ignore that."

"No. But your performance in this extracurricular and therefore extra credit assignment may boost your grade."

"You mean I could get an Outstanding?"

"I mean you may deliver yourself from a Dreadful. Is that bird still following us?"

"Randir? Yeah, he's still here. When are we going to stop and eat? I'm hungry."

Hooper was always hungry. Snape wasn't sure if it was his age or a tapeworm. The food he'd brought for the entire journey to Scrabster was gone by mid morning. If it wasn't for the falcon, Snape would have ditched the boy long before.

After passing through Inverness (where he bought more food), and crossing the head of the Dornoch Firth at Bonar Bridge, Snape hugged the coast of the Moray Firth all the way to Latheron where the hills on his left began to smooth out into flatter land. There he turned north to Thurso and Scrabster. It was a lot like driving on Skye. Almost no cars, few people, and tiny villages. Snape was getting very used to white-painted stone cottages. Hooper was getting a lot of sleep.

Scrabster was a little town on the northern edge of Scotland, with stone buildings, some white, some natural, with gray roofs and chimney pots, that now seemed large after the empty moors. Snape booked passage on the little ferry to Stromness, found a place to leave the car for several days, then woke Hooper, who immediately demanded food. Snape gave him an apple and ignored the rest of his complaint. The ferry left at 5:00 that afternoon. Clocks were already on summer time, so there were more than two hours of light left.

The ferry took them past Hoy on the way to Mainland, and they were able to see the great pinnacle of rock on the western coast known as the Old Man of Hoy. Hooper scanned the cliffs where sea birds nested. "You want Randir to search all of that?" he asked. "You have high expectations."

"If you think the two of you aren't capable of it…"

"I didn't say that."

Stromness was a larger town whose stone-paved streets ended in stone quays at the water's edge. Snape got a room at a small guest house near the ferry dock, and left their bags while he and Hooper strolled in the soft sunset out to the edge of the town and the moors and hills beyond. There Hooper called Randir, and for the first time since they'd left Aberdeen, the falcon came to his hand.

"What do I show him?" Hooper asked.

Snape took off his coat, ignoring the evening chill. "Show him a seal," he said, "then think about its skin. Think about different types of seals, too, black ones, brown ones, mottled ones. We're not sure of the color." As he talked, he folded the coat into a neat package, a kind of squarish bundle. "Now show him that it's folded up like this."

Hooper did as Snape directed, and then flung his arm upwards to give the bird momentum to leave his fist without clawing. Randir rose, wings beating strongly, then began to scream. It wasn't a scream of anger or of pain, nor was it the screech of a hawk pouncing on its prey. It was a strange, lonesome scream of longing and solitude that Snape had never heard before.

For ten minutes Randir circled, screeching, and Snape worried that there would soon be no light. Suddenly, from the direction of the hills, there came an answering scream as another peregrine dove down, seeming to attack Randir. Wings beat frantically for several seconds as the falcons faced each other, claw to claw in midair, then Randir broke away and swooped down onto a rock. The other bird followed.

What was happening became apparent a moment later when first Randir and then the second falcon flew over to Hooper. Snape watched, fascinated, as the boy communicated soundlessly with both, and then the Orkney falcon flew away while Randir settled again on Hooper's hand.

"We may know something tomorrow," Hooper said quietly. "She's going to tell the others."

The two walked back into town, the path by now nearly invisible in the northern twilight, and the moon, only a little past new, of no help at all. They got a quick supper and went to bed, ready for an early start the next day.

The next morning they went out onto the moors again to find three peregrines waiting for Randir. Hooper 'spoke' briefly to each, and they left to search the hills around Stromness. Snape and Hooper returned to town and found a place that rented bicycles. Then they took the ferry to Hoy.

On the ferry ride to Hoy, it began to rain. "Thank goodness," Snape said, pulling out a raincoat, hat, and woolen scarf from the pack on the back of the bicycle. "I was hoping this would happen."

"Why? You like getting wet?"

"Don't get cheeky. It so happens that just because I never heard of a wizard living on Hoy doesn't mean there aren't any. All the places I've gone so far, I've tried to be as inconspicuous as possible, but that's hard to do here. Too small. Rain means covering my head and face will be natural. There are too many Hogwarts students from the last fifteen years who could recognize me."

"You don't have the kind of face that gets lost in a crowd, that's for sure," Hooper commented acidly.

Once off the ferry and biking into the interior of the island, Hooper sent Randir off again to find other falcons. By mid morning they had a crew of about half a dozen searching for something that might be a selkie skin.

"Hope nobody notices all the noise and activity," Hooper said as the two settled on a couple of rocks for lunch around noon.

"What activity?" Snape asked.

"The puffins, gulls, skuas – there's a whole bunch of birds that nest here. Randir showed me they were getting pretty stirred up because of the falcons searching through their nesting grounds."

"I hope they're not eating anybody."

"No more than usual. There's always some hunting."

"How do you know so much about birds?"

"Been showing and seeing all my life. It took me a long time to realize other people couldn't do it." Hooper threw a piece of his sandwich to a passing gull. "Part of me was hoping that one of you could communicate with that goat. I thought maybe there'd be someone like me at Hogwarts."

"I hate to disillusion you, but I've never heard of the talent before."

"Well, at least I tried."

Most of the afternoon passed in silence. There was something about the great expanse of sky arching over the rolling land and the stark cliffs at sea's edge that satisfied more than conversation could. Snape felt at home; Hooper, a city boy, was awed. By the end of the day they didn't want to return to Stromness, but they knew they would be back on Hoy on the morrow, for the search was not yet over, and the falcons had so far found no selkie skin. They took the ferry back, checked with the local Stromness birds, supped, slept, and were back on the ferry the next day.

"What if he's already been here and taken it, or enchanted it, or… I mean, wouldn't he expect us to come looking for it?" Hooper, being young, was impatient and depressed when, towards the end of the second day, they'd still found nothing.

"That's always possible. This may turn out to be a fruitless search."

"All this work for nothing."

Snape watched the frustration play around Hooper's face. "Even nothing is information. Usually finding out that something doesn't work is just as valuable as finding out that it does. Every time we cross a place off, it narrows the rest of our search."

"It's boring."

"That, Master Hooper, is why you could never be a Hufflepuff, or even a Ravenclaw. The Slytherins and Gryffindors may make the occasional flashy discovery, but it's the other houses that get the most work done. And I tend to think he wouldn't come here. There are lots of people who can detect magic, and I imagine more of them would report to Albus Dumbledore than to Polydore Liripipe. He might worry that he would show Dumbledore where the skin is if he came looking for it, too. There are a lot of variables, and we can only do what is given us to do and hope for the best."

By the end of the third day, they were reasonably certain that the selkie skin was not on Hoy.

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	3. Chapter 3 – 1983 – 1984 3

WARNING! : One of the reviewers has chosen to post a spoiler in the reviews. If you do not wish to know the ending in advance, do not read the reviews.

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**Severus Snape: The Middle Years – The Third Year, 1983-1984 (3)**

_Thursday, April 5, 1984 (midway between new moon and first quarter)_

"What about right here in Stromness?" Hooper asked the next morning at breakfast.

"I really don't think the falcons can go searching through people's boats and houses. It would be just a touch obvious."

"I'm going to ask Randir. We may as well check. Then where do we go?"

"Kirkwall. It gives us a chance to search the other side of Mainland, and that's where we can get ferries to some of the other islands. Who knows? Maybe it is on Stronsay."

Outside of town, the falcon came at Hooper's call. Randir, it turned out, was cleverer than Snape had realized. He left immediately and returned about half an hour later with – a rat. The rat was terrified and struggling, but otherwise alive and well.

Hooper was just as capable of showing and seeing with a rat as with a goat, and soon had what they needed to know. "There's no place here where people don't constantly go. If the skin was here, someone would have found something. Unless the magic's too strong."

"We have to assume the magic isn't too strong. Liripipe's not that strong. It looks as if we're off to Kirkwall. We might have better luck there. It's a bigger town."

The ride to Kirkwall was about fifteen miles over relatively flat land with a distressingly strong wind. There was some motor traffic, and two cars stopped to see if Snape and Hooper needed a lift since the clouds indicated probable rain. They politely declined the offers, but the threatening weather meant Snape could stay bundled up and anonymous.

Once in Kirkwall, they got a room at the same little hotel near the harbor that Snape had been at in December. The muggle proprietor even remembered him. Over lunch, Snape and Hooper discussed how to proceed. They could work with the local falcons for a couple of days, and they could find out if there was any place in the town that might have remained undisturbed for ten years and more. It wasn't complex, but it was a plan.

Stepping out into the street, Snape looked around at the buildings near the water's edge, much larger and more imposing than in Stromness, but all of the same natural stone. He was talking as much to himself as to Hooper as they strolled along…

"Probably someplace both large and old. Anything small, like a house or a shop, the owners would probably be familiar with every nook and cranny. If its old, though, most people would just take it for granted and not be constantly poking around. I would tend to think…"

Hooper tapped Snape on the arm. Snape turned around, puzzled as Hooper pointed up a street they'd just crossed, where the land rose from the harbor in a gentle slope. There, its tower rising above the surrounding buildings, stood the great stone mass of St. Magnus Cathedral.

"That's big and old," said Hooper quietly. "Why don't we try there?"

That was, in fact, an excellent question. The street they were looking up was Bridge, but a little way on it became first Albert Street and then Broad Street, and then Snape and Hooper stood before the red and yellow sandstone church with its Romanesque arches, surrounded by grass and cemetery. The center doors were open, and they went inside.

The nave of the cathedral was dim and cool. Massive red stone pillars supported the sandstone arches that crisscrossed the white vaulted ceiling. There were no pews. Instead, the nave held rows of wooden chairs, and the modest communion table at the front of the choir was overshadowed by a great raised pulpit with an ornate carved canopy.

"Do you think they have rats?" Hooper asked in a hushed whisper.

"Either that, or mice," Snape replied. "Maybe an owl, some bats. All we need is something alive."

They left the church and went into the cemetery to stand among the gravestones. There Randir joined them, and Hooper sent him into the church. The falcon rose up to the top of the bell tower and entered there, presumably working his way down whatever system of stairs or ladders might lead from the ground to the bells. When the bird returned an hour later, it was carrying a mouse.

"Can you read a mouse?" Snape asked skeptically.

"Sure. Problem is, they're not as smart as rats. It takes awhile to get them to understand anything. Sometimes they never do."

It took quite a long time with this particular mouse. Finally Hooper admitted he wasn't sure if he understood the mouse or not. "There's something strange in the upper levels that might be the skin – or it might not. It's behind loose stones in a corridor, but the corridor seems to be triangular. I mean, it's high enough to walk in on one side, but the roof slopes down to the floor, like a triangle. Does that sound right?"

Snape looked up at the top of the church, then down to where the wooden roof of the triforium angled from the clerestory wall out to the wall of the nave. "Triangular," he said, pointing. "Like that section there?"

"Yeah," replied Hooper. "Do you think there's a space there to walk in?"

"Almost certainly. Let's go find out."

As Snape turned toward the church, Hooper stretched out the hand that held the mouse. Snape spun immediately and seized the boy's wrist. "What are you doing?" he demanded.

"Randir's hungry."

"That mouse helped us!"

"So did Randir."

"Randir's smart enough to catch something else. Give me that mouse." Reluctantly Hooper handed the mouse to Snape, who bundled the little creature in a handkerchief and tucked it gently into his coat pocket. Randir screeched, but made no attempt to go for the mouse.

"You didn't care about the rat in Stromness." Hooper's voice was accusing.

"You fed it to the bird?"

"No, it ran away. But you weren't paying attention." There was a pause, and then Hooper said, "I guess you weren't one."

"One what?"

"Death Eater. They'd 've given the mouse to Randir."

"Why do you think that?"

"Uncle Alastor says so."

"Is he really your uncle?"

"Nah. I just call him that. He says all Death Eaters are backstabbing scum."

"Alastor Moody doesn't know all Death Eaters."

They entered the church again and walked around. Since it was April, the building would be open until six o'clock. Snape and Hooper admired the two baptismal fonts, the tombs and their carvings, the statues and stained glass, the monuments, and were finally approached by a man who, from the absence of a collar, was clearly not a minister. He was more someone whose job was to show tourists around.

"I'm not too familiar with churches," Snape said, after the man asked if he could be of assistance. "This part down here, where the chairs are, what is this called?"

"This is the nave, sir. It was thought to resemble a ship, and the Latin for ship is _navis_." The man proceeded to guide them through the church, having no other tourists that afternoon to occupy him. He pointed out the statue of St. Olaf, and the tomb of John Rae, who explored the Arctic. There was a monument to H.M.S. Royal Oak, and a side altar in the south transept originally dedicated to St. Rognwald.

"Here in the choir, we see the original nave of the church, which was extended in later additions to the nave of today. Between the choir and the transept there is a true dungeon where prisoners waiting execution were kept. Over there is where they discovered the remains of St. Rognwald, concealed behind stonework, and there the pillar with the secret cavity where the bones of St. Magnus were originally hidden."

"A secret cavity in a pillar for the relicts of the patron saint? Isn't that a bit odd?" Snape asked.

"You might think so, sir, but my own belief is that it was a dangerous time with raids from across the sea and fighting against the kings of Scotland, for we were Norwegian then, and what was precious had to be concealed, lest it be stolen away or destroyed. Who knows how many covert niches there may be here, holding other secrets only too well?"

_Who knows indeed?_ Snape thought, then asked another question. "That second row of arches up there – what is that?"

"That, sir, is called a triforium. It is a sort of passageway above the nave from west front to chancel. In your great cathedrals it can be quite spacious. In this little one, it's more than a crawl way, but not very large."

Snape was looking into the man's eyes with rapt attention. "I don't imagine there's any way up to it."

"Of course there is, sir. We use it more for a storage area. We don't let the public up though. There's naught to see but the strong room, and it's not as safe as down here."

"Then you keep it locked, of course. Just to be safe?"

"You're good," Hooper said as they left the church. "You're real good. What did you get?"

"It's a narrow staircase, and the door isn't obvious, but it's not locked. They really don't expect people to go up there. We can come back shortly before six when he makes his rounds. He always goes the same way, and if we just slip in where he's checked before, he won't see us. We have to get flashlights, though."

"It'd be so much easier with a simple Confundus charm and a Lumos or two. This muggle stuff is slow."

"Slow, but safer. Wait. There's one other thing." Snape gently drew the handkerchief out of his pocket. The mouse was so quiet it might have been dead, but its nose and whiskers twitched nervously. Snape carefully set it down inside the door where it remained cautiously still for several seconds, then scurried away and was gone.

"Softy," said Hooper.

They bought food in a store and ate it in their room at the hotel. Then, shortly before six, they were back outside St. Magnus. At ten to the hour, they entered. Sure enough, the custodian was in the choir making certain all was in order. Snape and Hooper slipped around to the south transept, keeping the bulk of the pillars between them and the man's line of sight. Shortly after six, he left the church and locked the door.

"This way," Snape whispered, and led Hooper to a narrow paneled door with a latch handle. It wasn't locked and opened without a sound. The spiral stair inside was dark despite the fact that the sun was still in the sky, so Snape switched on his flashlight, and they cautiously ascended. They came out into the narrow, triangular triforium next to the strong room and looked around.

It was definitely used for storage. There were candle stands, and old alms boxes, and even a long ladder that looked like it was meant for two people to climb together. There was nothing, however, to show the location of a hiding place for a magical skin.

"Now what?" Hooper asked.

"We look for the spot the mouse showed you. The spot where there's something strange. Why did it think the spot strange, anyway?"

"It scares them. There's nothing there, no animal or trap, but it pushes them away. It's like a human feeling some superstitious fear. They always try to stay far away."

"So you didn't really see a skin."

"No. It just seemed like a spell. Like magic."

"Look around. Does anything here look like what the mouse showed you?"

They wandered through the triforium with its sloping wooden roof while Hooper tried to match the things he was looking at with the image the mouse had given him. Snape made him constantly stop and turn around so he could see things from different angles. Slowly they made their way around the transepts and nave, Snape marking any place where Hooper was uncertain and had to think if this was the place or not. Having made the full circuit in less than an hour, they sat on the floor of the triforium to wait for the sun to set. Magic, Snape explained, was sometimes easier to detect in the dark of night.

Retracing their steps after sunset was slower and harder. Snape tried to keep the use of the flashlights to a minimum in case there were chinks in the roof or walls where the light would shine through to the outside. Patiently, practically at the pace of a crawl, the two retraced the route they'd come around the church, finding Snape's marks and feeling around each area carefully before moving on to the next.

They were back near the south transept again when Hooper switched on his light, only to have Snape lay a hand on his wrist and ask him to switch it off again. As their eyes adjusted once more to the darkness, Snape could just make out the faintest of glows at the base of a column supporting one of the arches. A glow like air shimmering in the heat. A glow where no light should have been.

"There," Snape said pointing, forgetting that in the darkness Hooper couldn't see his hand.

"Where? I don't see anything."

"The light. Over by the pillar."

"I'll take your word for it."

Snape switched on his flashlight and knelt by the column, Hooper next to him. "How do we get it out of there?" the boy asked.

"Shh!" was Snape's response. "Let me think."

"Are we going to take it?" Hooper was getting impatient again, though only a minute had passed.

"Rush the potion, melt the cauldron," Snape replied. "As long as we have the time, we may as well do this right. We're not even certain this is what we're looking for. Are you sure you don't see the glow from the magic?"

"No. I mean, I'm sure I don't. Is that important?"

"Maybe. I don't think I'd have seen in the daylight. I certainly can't see it with the flashlight on. That I can see it at all could mean it's breaking down. It appears that whatever's in there is hidden, but not magically concealed. It's not that kind of spell. It's clearly a spell of protection since it repels the mice. One major question is, is it also a warning spell? Will it send him an alarm if we try to take it?"

"Is that possible?"

"Hooper, the Ministry of Magic could detect you performing a levitation spell right now. Do you know where Professor Liripipe's husband works?" Hooper shook his head. "The Ministry of Magic," said Snape. "It's possible."

There was a sudden skittering to Snape's left, and then silence. "What was that?" Hooper whispered.

"From the sound of paws on stone, I'd guess a mouse. Maybe even the one you spoke to today."

The reply to this observation was a harsh "ONGK!" but it didn't come from Hooper. Snape twisted sharply and shot the beam from the flashlight along the triforium passage. Walking sedately toward them, the faint click of its claws on the stone now audible, was an ancient raven.

"Quick," Snape hissed, "do you have any food?"

Hooper dug his hands into his pockets and brought out the remains of a beef sandwich from the meal they'd bought at the store. He'd clearly carried it with him in the anticipation of becoming hungry during their search. Silently he handed it to Snape, who tore off a piece and tossed it to the raven. The bird snapped up the offering and waited for more.

"Why are you…"

"Shh. Have you ever communicated with a raven before?"

"No. They've never let me near."

"Do you have any idea how smart they are? Or how long they live?"

"No."

"One of the most intelligent, if not the most intelligent bird there is, and about thirteen years." Snape tossed the raven another piece of sandwich. It croaked back at him.

"Do you think it's been living here all this time?"

"Look how old it is." As he spoke, the raven walked over with great dignity, its head cocked at an angle as if questioning them. "Talk to it. Find out if it knows anything."

What the raven remembered was an evening in its distant youth when, in the long fading twilight of an Orkney June night, the silence of the empty church had been disturbed by the sudden pop of a wizard apparating into the nave. He was carrying a flat, square bundle like a folded-up cloak. Looking around, he focused on the triforium and apparated there, watched from an opposite arch by the curious raven. It was the play of lights that the raven remembered best, lights that shot from the wizard's wand as he first opened a niche at the base of the column, then placed the bundle inside and closed it. With another pop, he was gone.

That was it. It was scarcely conceivable that two wizards would be hiding selkie skins in Orkney at the same time. It had to be Liripipe. Snape fed more of the sandwich to the raven in thanks for the information, then the bird hopped up to the railing that blocked the archway and sailed off into the nave.

"What do we do now?" Hooper asked, his eyes glittering with excitement.

"We go back the way we came. No magic. We apparate to Hogwarts from Aberdeen and we tell Professor Dumbledore. He'll decide what to do."

Before leaving, Snape sprinkled the crumbs from the rest of the sandwich along the edge of the triforium floor as a gift to the mouse who, lacking information itself, had thought to go to the oldest inhabitant of the church for help.

xxxxxxxxxx

"Then it is certain it is there?" Dumbledore leaned forward across his desk, pressing the tips of his fingertips together.

"I don't see how it could be anything else," Snape said. "The age of the raven places it in the right timeframe, the size and shape of the bundle match what we're looking for, Hooper says the picture of Polydore Liripipe matches as closely as one could expect to the raven's memory image… If it isn't the skin, we're facing the most improbably coincidence in wizarding history."

Now Dumbledore leaned back. "Your observations on the nature of the spells?"

Snape's manner changed as well, becoming more 'teacherly.' "The skin appears untransformed. This isn't surprising. Liripipe must have assumed the skin would remain concealed for decades. Transfiguration spells, even assuming a selkie skin could be transfigured, are notoriously unstable over time. There'd be no point to transfiguration if concealment and protection would last longer anyway. One thing we don't know is if the skin is booby-trapped."

"Booby-trapped? Is that a muggle expression?"

"I suppose so. It means, in this case, that there are spells in place so that if the niche is disturbed, they would either attack the disturbers or destroy the skin."

"I do not think he would destroy the skin, Severus. It might result in the unavoidable death of his wife. While it is possible for a deeply disturbed person to reach that point, I doubt that he would plan it so far in advance or allow it to occur outside his control. We might be in danger of attack, but I do not think the skin would be destroyed."

"You're probably right. I hope so. Next, we don't know if the niche was muggle- or magic-made. There's at least one other place in the church where important relics were hidden in a secret cavity in a column. There may be others. Over time, a muggle niche would be more stable than a magic niche. But how would Liripipe be aware of any such niche? It's possible, of course, that he'd scouted the church before and found it…" Snape paused, then turned in puzzlement to Dumbledore. "Do you think he may have been trying to catch a selkie bride for years? That this was planned long in advance, not the grabbing of a chance opportunity?"

"Anything, Severus, is possible, though that would explain a lot."

"It would, wouldn't it? Maybe it is likely the niche is muggle-made." Snape continued with his analysis. "There are definitely protection spells because the mice are afraid of the spot and give it a wide berth. Beyond that, there are no special concealment spells. Without using magic, there's no way to tell how many or what kind of protection spells there are, or if there are any alarm spells. My personal assessment is that a wizard or wizards, strong enough and prepared to move quickly enough, could go in, seize the skin, and get out with a minimum of hindrance. It would have to be well-planned, though. Otherwise I'd expect Liripipe to put in an appearance, ready to defend his 'property.'"

"That seems well reasoned. Thank you, Severus. Thank you, too, Master Hooper. Your assistance in this enterprise has been invaluable. I release you now to join your comrades, though we may call upon you for aid again in the future."

Hooper whispered to Snape as they went to the door, "Invaluable – does that mean worthless?"

"Not at all," Snape whispered back. "It means so valuable that you can't put a price on it."

"Oh. Good." Hooper nodded profoundly.

"Severus, might I trouble you to remain for a few moments to discuss some administrative matters?"

With that, Hooper left and Snape stayed. Neither Snape nor Dumbledore bothered to warn Hooper to keep the secret of their adventure, both knowing instinctively that it was not necessary, and that it might even, being an insulting suggestion, be counterproductive. It should be noted that neither man was entirely innocent in the area of mischief-making, and understood Hooper better than Hooper would have believed credible.

"Now what do we do?" Snape asked Dumbledore after Hooper had gone.

"We plot. We are not in a particularly pressing hurry. We need a seemingly naturally occurring incident that will keep Mr. Liripipe focused here on Hogwarts while we go north, enter the church, seize the skin, and return, knowing all along that he may be alerted to what we are doing and attempt to interfere."

"Sure," said Snape, not totally convinced. "Piece of cake."

"Would you like some? I know you have been forced to miss some meals and that you must be hungry. I am certain we could ask the house-elves to fix you something…"

Snape politely declined the offer and went down to the dungeons to relax and retire in his own rooms.

xxxxxxxxxx

As April faded into May, reports came up from Hogsmeade that Polydore Liripipe was apparating in with great frequency to sit in the Three Broomsticks and brood over a glass of mead or firewhisky.

"He's getting worried," Snape told Dumbledore. "The school year's coming to an end, and he knows we have to do something."

"And we do, Severus. The only question is, what? I personally would not prefer a direct confrontation with Mr. Liripipe in a church in Orkney, but it may come down to that. The students will be going home for the summer on June twenty-fourth, and we really must have a solution to this problem by then." Dumbledore was sitting at his desk, a book open in front of him. "By the way, he has checked the skin, but did not remove it."

Snape was surprised. "How do you know?"

"I have been devious enough to establish a few non-magical contacts of my own, this time with a most helpful raven. Fawkes has never entered the church and his presence would therefore not be detected. The raven is delighted to exchange stories and has been keeping an eye on things. He finds this all quite exciting."

"Sir, do you want me to go back and retrieve the skin?"

"No, Severus, for several reasons. The first, if you will pardon my saying so, is that I would prefer someone, shall we say, stronger in charms and spells. You are superb in potions and dark magic…"

"But not a good enough spell caster for this," Snape finished morosely.

"I do not know. Perhaps you are. We would not find out until the actual day, when it would be too late to devise alternate plans. No, I must go, and you must come up with some sort of diversion to keep Mr. Liripipe distracted. It must, however, be here at Hogwarts, which will make it difficult for Professor Liripipe and myself to travel undetected. Therein lies your problem."

"Why here at Hogwarts? Why can't I trick him into going somewhere else?"

"Because we must wait until end of term for Professor Liripipe to complete her courses and give her exams. It would be unfair to the students otherwise, and she would not agree. You must remain at Hogwarts then because we shall be shorthanded and I shall need you here."

"Why shorthanded?"

"Professors Kettleburn and Dawson have both requested permission to be absent from the school starting on the twentieth and returning in the evening of the twenty-second. I have agreed. This unfortunately coincides with the most convenient time for us to move in the Liripipe matter, but you must remain here."

"Did they say why they wanted leave?" Snape had difficulty concealing his frustration.

"Not in any detail. I got the impression it might have something to do with the solstice on the twenty-first. One really cannot alter the day of the solstice for one's own convenience, you know. You will have to remain at Hogwarts."

Snape fumed on his way downstairs. The strange affair of Kettleburn and Dawson had faded into the back of his consciousness, but now it came raging to the front in full force. _How dare they! How dare they push their seedy little romance into my life? And how could Dumbledore agree when he knows that's the precise moment we need the most mobility and flexibility?_

He'd just reached the first floor and was about to descend to the Great Hall and lunch, when Snape both heard and saw Professor Kettleburn dashing up the stairs from the entrance hall carrying a small package. Not trusting himself to be civil to the man, Snape retreated into a corner and watched as Kettleburn turned down the corridor toward Dawson's Muggle Studies classroom. Suddenly, Snape wanted desperately to spy.

It didn't take a lot of work. Dawson's cry of "You got them! I could kiss you right here!" was not exactly muffled. Snape risked a peek through the door Kettleburn had carelessly left ajar and was shocked to see that Dawson had flung her arms around Kettleburn and was hugging him. Right there where students might see if they weren't all downstairs eating. Snape stepped back out of sight.

"We'll have to pass as man and wife again, of course," Kettleburn said. "It's the easiest way to be sure they let us stay together."

"Oh, this is going to be so exciting!" Dawson was practically giggling. "I've never done anything quite like this. It will be dangerous, though. What if they discover who we are when we're right in the middle and can't get out? We have to practice more… We have to get everything exactly right."

"You're right as always." Kettleburn replied. "It isn't as though we could ask for Ministry assistance if we get into trouble. Not when we're involved in something like this. No, once we start, we're on our own."

As the days passed, Snape wracked his brains trying to come up with a way to distract Polydore Liripipe at the end of term and give Dumbledore and Professor Liripipe a head start in retrieving the skin. No ideas came.

In the middle of May, Kettleburn approached Snape with a question about suitcases.

"If muggles don't want to carry them everywhere, what can they do with them?"

"Trains stations have a left luggage area, some places have lockers…" Snape eyed Kettleburn carefully. "Usually they're staying somewhere, and the hotel can hold the bag…"

"Left luggage sounds interesting. Thanks, Severus."

That gave Snape the germ of an idea, and he began to spy more and more on Kettleburn and Dawson, for if they were worried about carrying clothing in suitcases and having to leave the bags somewhere, they were planning to do something that prevented them from using magic.

The last week of May, just before the last Hogsmeade excursion, brought this overheard conversation between the two:

"Do we have to wear these when we leave? Can't we change as soon as we apparate?"

"Now, Sapientia, you know that from the moment we walk out of Diagon Alley, no traceable actions. We have to be already dressed for the part."

"But people here and in Hogsmeade will notice what we're wearing."

"Not if we wrap ourselves in cloaks. We just be sure we're well covered. Hoods, too."

"Cloaks in June, Max? People will notice that."

"Not as much as what we'll be wearing under them."

Snape sought out Hooper at once. "Do you want to do something both sneaky and important?"

"Do I get to trick someone?"

"What do you think?"

"I'm in."

The Saturday of the Hogsmeade excursion, Snape had supervisory duty and staked out his usual table in the Three Broomsticks. Moody, blessedly, was not there, but Polydore Liripipe was. If he was looking for his wife, he was going to be disappointed because she was staying at the castle. Hooper, on the other hand, had permission to be out, despite being only a first year. Snape was hoping Liripipe wouldn't notice the boy was suspiciously young. The man was clearly watching Snape closely, probably remembering the confrontation between them in October.

The play started at three o'clock when Hooper came into the Three Broomsticks and tried to buy a butterbeer.

"Master Hooper," said Snape, rising from his seat in dark menace. "What are you doing in Hogsmeade?"

"Buying a butterbeer, Prof. I thought that was obvious." Both Hooper's and Snape's voices were low, but dripping with mutual dislike. Liripipe was paying rapt attention.

"I am becoming quite tired of your disobedience and disrespect, Master Hooper. You have just lost fifteen points for Slytherin, and earned yourself a week's detention. Now, go back to the castle."

"I don't have to serve detention anymore. Term's almost over, and I'll just go home. Right now, I'm going to have this butterbeer."

"I think not."

"My dad's an auror and you're just a teacher. Try to stop me."

Snape's stinging hex hit Hooper in the wrist, causing him to drop the glass of butterbeer, which shattered on the floor and sent the golden brew sloshing in all directions. "Butterbeer's gone," Snape said softly. "Go back to the castle and come to my office at five."

"You'll regret that, Professor. You've bullied me for the last time. You'll regret it." With that, Hooper stomped out of the tavern. Just a heartbeat later, Polydore Liripipe rose and followed him.

"He assumes I hate you and I'll do anything to get back at you," Hooper reported later. "He caught up to me halfway to the gate, and offered to help me. Considering you hit me with a hex that still stings, I was half tempted to let him."

"Necessary to cement your credentials. I'll give you a shot at me if it makes you feel better."

"Only if I can choose the time and place." Hooper grinned at Snape's expression and continued. "He was really interested in your relationship with the rest of the staff, so I told him you were in love with his wife."

"You didn't!"

"Oh yeah. You get all puppydog-eyed and try to talk to her in private and everything, and at first she wouldn't give you the time of day, but now she's coming around."

"I do not!" Snape sputtered. "And she doesn't either! Where do you get that kind of language, anyway? It sounds like a cheap novel."

"Maybe from cheap novels. I can read, you know. Anyway, he's sure you're the one to watch, so he's paying me to spy on you."

"How much?"

"Why? Are you planning to match it?"

"Not if I can help it. I just want to know how far I can trust you."

"Don't worry. There's no future working for an idiot like that. You can't learn anything."

"You're not learning anything from me!"

"Wanna bet? I could go into business for myself on the strength of what you already taught me. You must've terrorized this school when you were a student, and then you conned them into making you a professor. Now that's art."

There was no percentage at this point in disillusioning Hooper, so Snape let the subject drop. What they needed now, in any case, was information to pass on to Liripipe. Dumbledore supplemented what Snape had already gleaned from spying on Kettleburn and Dawson.

"Each is planning to leave right after dinner on the twentieth. It really is not as odd as it seems if they truly are attending the same solstice celebration. The solstice itself is just before five the next morning so with all the partying I am honestly not expecting them back until late on the twenty-third. Especially since Maximilian knows Charles and Sapientia knows Octavia. It is quite a foursome. Do you think Mr. Liripipe will be convinced?"

"I hope so," said Snape. "Just grab that thing fast and get out of there."

"You know the preliminaries will take time, learning the types of spells involved."

"As long as that itself doesn't set off any alarms. Are you sure you don't want backup?"

"I would prefer you stay at the school."

Hooper met Liripipe by the gate a couple of times during exams, but gave him no real news. It was clear, however, that the hook was in deep. In the last week of school, with students packing up and professors completing their grades, on Tuesday, June nineteenth, Hooper finally told Liripipe the tale. He'd practiced with Snape for some time.

"They've both finished grading papers and they've turned the marks in to the school. She's finished for the year, but he has to be here next weekend when we all leave, so they're going to move tomorrow evening. They'll be coming to the gate all wrapped up in cloaks with hoods because they don't want anyone to recognize them. I even heard him talking about some potion that makes you look like someone else, just in case. After they apparate, they won't use any magic 'cause they don't want you to trace them, but he'll have his wand."

Liripipe's reaction, as reported by Hooper, was typical. "I'll get them when they come out the gate!"

"Don't you want to get rid of him for good?" Hooper asked maliciously. "Make sure he never bothers you again?"

There was no mistaking the glitter in Liripipe's eyes as he nodded. "How would you suggest I do that?"

"Catch them in the act. Make a scandal so big they have to fire him from school. Just follow them, no magic to tip them off, until you get them. It shouldn't take long, and then you come in, the innocent husband."

Liripipe walked away, gleefully rubbing his hands together in anticipation of the chase.

Dinner on June twentieth was tense for Snape. He grabbed a quick bite, but was more interested in watching Kettleburn and Dawson. They behaved fairly normally, except that they didn't speak to or look at each other, and they both ate rather quickly and then left the Great Hall.

Snape left, too, and hid himself just inside the stairway into the dungeons. About twenty minutes later, first Dawson then the taller Kettleburn came downstairs, both in long black cloaks with hoods that concealed their faces. They left the castle together and started down the hill.

Rushing to his rooms, Snape flung a handful of floo powder into the fireplace and cried, "Headmaster's office." Dumbledore was there at once. "They've started," Snape said, not waiting for a reply since he had to follow the other two professors.

June is a month of lengthy afternoons, lingering twilights, and late sunsets. It was hard staying out of sight while creeping down the hill toward the gate when the sun was still high in the sky, but Snape managed it. He watched from a distance as Kettleburn and Dawson slipped out of the gate, looked around, saw no one, then disapparated.

Almost immediately, a figure that had been lurking behind the nearest Hogsmeade building appeared, strode over to the spot where the professors had been standing, and also disappeared, following their apparation trail. Snape turned and shot sparks from his wand, a signal to Dumbledore that the way was clear.

Dumbledore and Liripipe came hurrying down the hill as Snape ascended. "Good luck," Snape called in passing, then watched as they, too, went through the gate and disapparated, though he knew that they were not following the others. They were headed north. Now it was Snape's turn.

It took but a moment to return to his rooms, grab his own cloak, and throw it over his shoulders. As Snape left the dungeons and crossed the entrance hall for the door, a voice near the Great Hall said, "Where are you going?" It was Hooper.

"None of your business," Snape replied and walked out of the castle, Hooper on his heels.

"It's been my business up to now," Hooper insisted. "I say it still is. You're leaving Hogwarts, aren't you? I thought Dumbledore told you to stay here."

"Professor Dumbledore, and it's not your place to tell teachers what to do."

"He's going to be mad at you, Professor."

"If we're lucky, he won't even know I was there. If we're not lucky, he may need my help."

"Take me with you."

"Absolutely not."

"You could use me. You could use Randir."

"Maybe, but you're not going."

"I'll go after Liripipe and warn him."

"You're too young to apparate."

"That doesn't mean I can't. I can. Watch me."

Snape spun and grabbed Hooper's arm. "You're going back up that hill," he hissed, exasperated almost beyond endurance and ready to immobilize the boy right there. "I can't have you…"

What Snape couldn't have remained unspoken for at that moment he was attacked. With a screech of rage, Randir dove from the sky, wings beating and talons raking, protecting Hooper from danger. Snape released Hooper to fend the falcon away from his head. "Call the bird off!" he shouted, and Hooper did so.

They faced each other there on the hill, and now Snape's brain was racing through possible scenarios that hadn't occurred to him previously. "Has that creature ever apparated before?" was all he said to Hooper.

Hooper grinned. "No, but I can show him what's going to happen. He can decide."

Randir sat on Hooper's fist the rest of the way down the hill while Hooper showed him what apparation involved. Once through the gate, the falcon soared into the air, its hesitation at this strange mode of travel clear, then after a moment it settled again on Hooper's hand.

"I guess we're ready," Hooper said.

A minute later the three of them – Snape, Hooper, and Randir – were standing in the cemetery outside St. Magnus Cathedral in Kirkwall.

"How much time do we have?" Hooper asked as Snape looked around to see if they'd been noticed.

"They have to pick up something wherever it was left and then go to where they're meeting the others, so we probably have at least an hour before Liripipe notices anything. Maybe more."

"If they're just going to a solstice celebration, why can't they use magic?" Hooper asked, Snape not having told him anything about his own suspicions.

"She teaches Muggle Studies. They may be going to a muggle celebration and don't want anyone to know they're wizards."

"Muggles celebrate solstice? My mom didn't."

"Some do, some don't." By this time they were at the church door, which was locked. Snape drew out his wand and whispered, _"Alohomora!"_ The door was open.

"I thought we weren't supposed to use magic," said Hooper.

"We don't have to worry about that now," Snape answered. "If anything alerts him, it'll be Professor Dumbledore. Now you have to be absolutely quiet, and that bird, too."

They crept into the nave with its dim light. Above them, in the triforium on the south side, a brighter light was visible where Dumbledore studied the concealing spells of the column. There was nothing to do now but wait in silence. Snape steered Hooper into the south aisle where they couldn't be seen from the triforium. Time slowed to a crawl.

After a while, Professor Liripipe spoke. "Do you think it will be possible?"

There was a pause, and then Dumbledore replied, "Most definitely possible, but it will summon him. We must be prepared to move quickly. Which of the islands?"

"Stronsay."

"Think of it, and let me see… Good, that should not be a problem. Now, if I have analyzed this properly…

Light flared suddenly in the triforium and glowed through the nave as Dumbledore commanded, _"Aperio Arcanum!"_ After a moment's silence he spoke again. "It is not as bad as I feared. Nothing will harm the skin, though it does appear that it may attack the one who disturbs it. We shall move in baby steps. I suggest you stand back by that other column, just in case. Good. _Resolvo Catellum!_"

Beams of red light shot in all directions from the column, and Snape was glad that he and Hooper had stone between them and the niche Dumbledore was trying to open. He strained to hear something from above, hoping Dumbledore was unharmed.

"Well, that was certainly impressive," Dumbledore said. "A reminder that proper shielding is always an excellent idea. Are you all right, Beatrice?"

"Yes, sir. Do you think he knows?"

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. He will know soon, however. Be prepared to go quickly… _Effringo et Libero!"_

There was a horrible sound of rending stone, a resounding rumble as of some tremendous movement of earth, and the church trembled. Then, in the stillness, Dumbledore said, "We have it. I think now, Beatrice."

Before Professor Liripipe could respond, there was another sound, the loud, percussive Pop of someone apparating directly into the nave.

"How dare you!" Polydore Liripipe screamed up at Dumbledore. "How dare you steal from me! Release my property at once!" but whether he was talking about the skin or about his wife was impossible to tell.

The only response from Dumbledore was an answering Pop as he and Professor Liripipe disapparated.

Before Snape could recover and move, Liripipe had apparated to the triforium and from there disapparated after Dumbledore and Professor Liripipe.

"He's followed them! Quick!" Snape said to Hooper, and seconds later he, Hooper, and the falcon apparated directly to St. Catherine's Beach on Stronsay.

The sun was hugging the horizon as Snape and Hooper looked around the broad, flat beach at the eastern end of St. Catherine's Bay. There was no one near them. Cursing under his breath, Snape glanced in all directions. He hadn't followed Dumbledore and Liripipe's trail because he didn't want to apparate in right next to them. He'd hoped they'd return to the same bay where Professor Liripipe had been captured, but… Then he saw it. A distance to the right, out along the northern edge of the bay where the sand merged into a rockier coast, there was a flash of red light.

Snape ran for the spot with Hooper behind him. Randir soared into the air, screeching above. Out to the side, the falcon was answered by another bird that rose from the grass and scrub with pulsing wingbeats and a hoarse _Chee-aw!_ – a mottled brown owl, its flat face ringed with white.

As he neared the spot where the red light still played, Snape slowed, and Hooper slowed, too, while the falcon circled silently overhead and the owl beat its way out over the bay, calling now with a rhythmic _Voo-hoo-hoo!_

Dumbledore stood at the water's edge, tall and regal, the wand in his hand pointed down. Professor Liripipe knelt behind him, unwrapping the soft package they'd taken from its hiding place in St. Magnus Cathedral. Confronting them, his back to Snape and Hooper, was Polydore Liripipe. The red glow came from a magical barrier that surrounded Dumbledore and Professor Liripipe, a barrier that resembled nothing more nor less than a fence. Snape knew that Dumbledore had seen him coming, but he'd given no sign that might warn Liripipe of the danger behind.

"I am truly sorry, Polydore, that you have chosen to resist the inevitable," Dumbledore was saying. "You must realize that I am no manticore or nundu to be caged in a Ministry-approved creature pen. I have no desire to turn this matter into a duel between us, as I have no desire to cause you any harm, but you do understand that if you attempt to restrain Beatrice by force, I shall have to assist her in any way that I can."

"You're stealing my wife!" Liripipe's face was mottled red, and there was a froth around his lips.

"I see that you have not yet fully appreciated the change in your situation. You are no longer in possession of the selkie skin. You no longer have it in your power to destroy it. Your ability to control the situation has already ended."

The enraged husband's voice rose to an hysterical scream. "No it hasn't! My wife stays with me and the children! There are laws…"

"Enlighten me, Polydore. When did this marriage between you and Beatrice take place? Who officiated? Who witnessed it? By all means, let us now return to the Ministry and bring all of this out into the open… expose you and your children to scandal. Is it not much better, for all concerned, to simply accept what you can no longer change, and release her?"

Far out beyond the bay, a faint booming echoed off the water, and Professor Liripipe raised her head and barked sharply, a keening, plaintive yelp that carried out to sea.

Liripipe was infuriated at the sound. "No!" he screamed. "I'd rather see both of us dead!"

"Polydore!" Dumbledore thundered as Liripipe raised his wand, and behind him Snape dropped to the sand and did the same, "Polydore! Do not force me…"

Wings, beak, and talons hurtled from the sky as the owl, returning from its mission, struck in a silent plunge. Liripipe shrieked in frustration, his wand shooting wild random bursts of spells, trying to repel the raptor whose claws tore at his hair and whose wings beat his head. Hair and blood sprinkled the ground.

Dumbledore lost not a second in dispersing the magical barrier that would have deflected his own spells, but the presence of the owl made him pause. Then fire sprang from Liripipe's wand, and the owl rose in panic, to drop and lie motionless on the sand.

Randir screamed in rage, and Liripipe spun to face the new attack, but Dumbledore was quicker. His target now open and clear, Dumbledore fired a stupefying spell, and Liripipe crumpled to the ground.

Snape got up and ran to the owl, Hooper behind him and Randir at his side. Snape had never tried healing a bird before, but Randir had a much better idea what to do. Standing beside the limp form of the owl, he carefully pecked at one wing. The owl opened its eyes, twisted its head around one hundred eighty degrees and back again, then scrambled to its feet in a flurry of feathers and sand. Hooper looked at Randir, then began to laugh at Snape.

"You should see your face! Short-eared owls always play dead when they're in trouble. That's what Randir says. You were all set to get heroic over that bird, weren't you? And he was just pretending! Maybe you should play doctor with the husband!"

Dumbledore had been checking on Professor Liripipe, helping her to her feet, and now came over to Snape and Hooper. "Playing dead? I have heard of that with opossums in America, but was unaware that birds could do it, too. Though after having experienced the intelligence of that raven in Kirkwall, I suppose I ought not to be surprised at anything. Now, if we could all…"

What they could all do remained unspoken, for at that moment a great form rose from the water of the bay.

It was a monstrous sea lion.

Professor Liripipe stepped between the sea creature and Dumbledore, barking softly as she did so. She then turned. "Professor Dumbledore," she said softly, "I'd like you to meet my husband. My real husband."

The sea lion, the selkie, hauled itself onto the beach, its great neck rippling with strength. Hooper dodged behind Snape as the beast bellowed and bowed, its head first raised in the air and then dropped to the sand. There being no enemy left to fight, it stretched out its neck, and the skin under its jaw began to split, the gash running from jaw to belly to tail, until from it stepped a tall man, pale skinned and lithe, with powerful neck and shoulders.

"Where stands the demon?" he demanded.

"He lies there, and is powerless," replied Professor Liripipe. "These others have helped me in my need."

The selkie strode to her side, muscles rippling, a swimmer still, even on land and through the air. "Beloved, I have waited here so long and at last you have returned to me. Is it as the legends have always told us?"

She lowered her head in sorrow. "It is," she answered. "I have borne halflings to a land creature."

"He shall die!"

"No, beloved! No death! He is to be pitied. When the land-doomed ones love the sea, it becomes a madness in them. His pod will care for him and wean him from this evil. They are frail creatures, and short lived. He will soon be gone."

"And the pups?"

"Are pups still. If they are land doomed, they will remain on the land. If they are, as I believe, children of the sea, they will come to us in their proper time. This is a wise one of the land. He will watch the pups and care for their growing." She turned to Dumbledore. "I'd like to see them from time to time. Would that be possible?"

"Dear Lady, you have only to ask."

Professor Liripipe smiled, a soft, wistful smile. "I must leave you now," she said. "The sea is strong within me." Quickly she removed her robes, standing as Snape had seen her swimming in August, slender and graceful, her enormous dark eyes brimming with the sea longing. Taking the long-hidden skin, she stepped carefully into it, as a woman might put on silk stockings, and pulled it up around her head. Suddenly, she was a brown, spotted seal, rolling playfully on the sand and hunching her way to the water's edge.

Her mate donned his own skin, transforming before the humans' eyes into the great bull. Nose to nose and neck to neck the sea lovers touched, savoring the well-remembered smell, and then she barked a farewell and he bellowed, and they slipped into the water and were gone.

xxxxxxxxxx

"You disobeyed me. I shall have to discipline you." Dumbledore was pouring glasses of mead in his office. They had bid farewell to the owl and taken Polydore Liripipe to St. Mungo's Hospital, alerting the Ministry to the apparent emotional breakdown of one of its bureaucrats. Randir was in the forest, and Hooper was in Slytherin house fast asleep. Snape was sitting in front of Dumbledore's fireplace, grateful for the warmth after the chill of the beach, even if it was June.

"Believe me," Snape said, accepting the glass, "I'll never do that again. All that effort and all that time, and for what? I never actually did anything."

"How do you reckon that?"

"I did nothing to help you get the skin, nothing to keep Liripipe from coming after you, nothing to fight him. Face it, I was a spectator all the way."

"But Severus, you brought the falcon, and the falcon alerted the owl, and without them things might have ended quite differently. I would hardly consider that not contributing."

"I hadn't thought about it like that. Maybe you're right." Snape sipped his mead, staring into the fire. He jumped suddenly as Dumbledore flung open the drapes at one window and early morning light flooded the office.

"Do you realize," Dumbledore said ecstatically, "that the sun has risen, and the solstice is upon us? And we were awake to see it? I do not often notice the moment of the solstice – in fact I generally miss it by several hours, if not days – but today I think I may have been within a quarter hour of it. I wonder if Maximilian and Sapientia are celebrating even now."

"I'm sure they are," Snape replied morosely.

Thursday the twenty-first passed calmly. Snape, in fact, missed the first half of it, having lain down in his rooms after that early glass of mead and fallen fast asleep. He woke up in time for lunch, where not one single person commented on his morning absence, not one single person, apparently, having even been aware he wasn't there.

Equally, most of the school barely noticed the absence of Professor Liripipe. She was not the head of a house, and her marks had been given several days before. The Dark Arts room was in excellent order, and it was generally conceded, if remarked on at all, that she'd decided to start her holidays early. Professor McGonagall did make one comment about 'getting back into shape' that made Snape pause, but then he recalled that Professor McGonagall was also a shapeshifter – in this case an animagus – and may have seen more in Professor Liripipe than any one else.

On Friday, Snape was up early and in the Great Hall as soon as breakfast was ready. What he wanted was not food, but his newspaper. The owl that delivered it got its usual treat, and then Snape began combing the pages for information about muggle events connected with the solstice. He was looking for anything that might indicate that Kettleburn and Dawson had, in fact, attended a celebration. What he got were pictures of old vans painted in lurid designs, muggles dressed in outfits that would have made wizards look inconspicuous, and a general sense that this might be the last month-long rock concert that the authorities would ever allow at Stonehenge. He searched the faces in the pictures, and did not see the Hogwarts professors.

The afternoon was quiet, with all the students taking advantage of the calm of the last two days of the term to be with their friends before they separated for the summer. Snape was early again to dinner to see if Kettleburn and Dawson were back, but there was no sign of them. Dumbledore had said the evening of the twenty-second, but it seemed the pair had extended their excursion by one day.

Saturday morning found Snape at the breakfast table with the Guardian open in front of him. He'd barely glanced at the jumbo jet pictured on the front page, and had gone directly to the more interesting (to him at least) news on the inside. Towards the back, he came across a picture of a group of businessmen and their wives, and there in the background, grinning out at him from a muggle newspaper, was the smiling face of Maximilian Kettleburn. Beside him, much less obvious, was Sapientia Dawson.

Shocked, Snape read the caption, which merely stated that this was 'a group of the directors and major and minor shareholders waiting to board at Gatwick.' _What are they doing at Gatwick?_ Snape thought. He noted that the story was continued from page one, and turned back to the picture of the jumbo jet.

_Gatwick to Newark!_ the headline read, and under that in smaller letters _Virgin Atlantic Inaugurates Service with Maiden Flight._

_That sneaky, underhanded…! He couldn't tell me what he was doing?_ Snape skimmed the article, and was relieved to find that nothing strange was reported to have happened in the airplane midway across the ocean. Then he focused on the picture again. _Shareholders? He bought stock in the Virgin Group?_ Suddenly all the questions about banks and currency exchange and identification began to make sense. _He's right. The Ministry would not approve._

It was a long day as Snape haunted the entrance hall and lawn waiting for Kettleburn and Dawson to return. Finally, around three, he spied them coming in the gate, once again wrapped in cloaks to hide their muggle clothes. Unable to contain himself, he strode down the hill and thrust the paper in Kettleburn's face. "I thought you were supposed to be discreet!" he snapped. "You got your picture plastered all over muggle newspapers."

Kettleburn grinned. "So what? You're the only one who ever reads muggle newspapers. So you guessed, eh?"

"Guessed! Wasn't it obvious from the beginning what you two were up to? I'd have to be a moron not to guess," Snape made no effort to hide his irritation. "And what are you going to do now?"

"Make money, I suppose," said Kettleburn, and beside him Dawson giggled. "It's the beginning of the tourist season. We should do well. Octavia's quite tickled that I've managed to do something to prepare for a profitable retirement."

"She knows?"

"Of course. So does Charles. You don't think I could spend so much time away from home without Octavia knowing what was happening, do you? What kind of a marriage do you think I have? Now, if you'll excuse us, we've just apparated back from New Jersey, and we're rather tired." With that the pair continued up the hill, leaving Snape with his copy of the Guardian.

Five minutes later, Snape trudged back into the castle and was ill-tempered and taciturn for the rest of the day.

The students left the next day, and the entire staff (minus the Dark Arts teacher) was there to supervise their departure. When the whistle blew on the Hogwarts Express, and they knew the angels were gone for the summer, the teachers returned to the castle for a little – well, let's be frank about it – party.

Said party lasted until mid afternoon, at which point the staff began to wish each other a pleasant summer. Some, their rooms in order and their work done, left then for their well-deserved holidays. Others wanted a day or two without students to finish their end-of-year cleanup. Snape, McGonagall, Flitwick, and Sprout had the dormitories to go through, and took nearly an extra week to straighten out the ending of the term just past and the preliminaries of the academic year that would start in just over a month (for teachers – two months for students).

Just at the end of June, they all said their goodbyes and Snape apparated to the moors outside his home village. It was evening, everyone was at supper, and no one saw him arrive. No one saw him at all until the next day at the market.

"Russ!" called a cheerful, matronly voice behind him as Snape selected a cut of meat for a _pot au feu_. "Lord love you, dear! I haven't seen you for ever so long."

Snape turned, smiling gently. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Hanson. I am, as you see, home for the summer. I most sincerely hope you've been well. You certainly look marvelous."

"Oh, get on with you! Just like your mother, you are. You wouldn't mind dropping by for tea this afternoon, would you?"

Mrs. Hanson was a widow, and often lonely. She loved a chance to sit and chat, and Snape wasn't about to forget the many times she'd given him shelter as a child when his father was 'poorly.' He accepted without hesitation, and was at her house at four.

They chatted for two hours, she giving him all the local gossip of the past year, and he telling her of expeditions (for purely academic reasons involving biology classes) to Skye and the Orkneys. She was thrilled, and wouldn't she love the chance to do a bit of traveling to faraway places like that, but then there was her rheumatism… and they discussed health and medicine.

After tea with Mrs. Hanson, Snape stopped at the local to greet his dad's old mates. They knew he had no reason to drop in on his first day, and were doubly pleased that he did, giving them a grand opportunity to reminisce about 'good ol' Toby' and, incidentally, beat the son three games running at darts. Toby's Russ was a sport, like his dad, and stood them a round as well as paying his losses, not puffed up with a posh job at a school, but one of the lads, the way it should be.

The summer stretched ahead, the calm routine of collecting plants, catching up with local events, teas with Mrs. Hanson and the occasional evenings at the pub. It was good to be back in the community where he'd grown up, where people knew him, where he was Eileen and Toby's boy and not some crackpot wizard from another world.

Truth be told, that summer Snape didn't spare a single unnecessary thought for the year ahead of him, thankful only that the year behind was over and done with, and no harm to anyone except Polydore Liripipe, who had, in any case, created his own problems.

It was a very pleasant summer indeed.

Here ends the story of the Third Year.


	4. Chapter 4 – 1984 – 1985 1

**Severus Snape: The Middle Years – The Fourth Year, 1984-1985 (3)**

_Wednesday, August 1, 1984_

The morning of the first day of August was generally accepted in Hogsmeade as being a time to sleep late, or at least to avoid walking anywhere along the fringes of the town. From about seven in the morning until nine, one could never be sure who might pop in, and the danger of having someone apparate right next to one – or even inside one – was greater then than at any other season. The Hogwarts professors were gathering for the first meeting of the new school year.

The last to arrive was young Professor Snape, who always came in at the stroke of nine, about ten minutes after he was supposed to be there since breakfast and the meeting started at nine sharp, and it took him ten minutes to walk up the hill to the castle. He had a welcoming committee of one.

"And here I was hoping this was the year you'd decide to cut and run," growled Alastor Moody practically in Snape's ear as the professor 'popped' in.

Snape staggered back in surprise, then recovered. "I have too much concern for your aging joints and muscles to force you into exerting yourself like that," he replied. "Though if you'd like to challenge me to a race to see which of us would win should I ever 'cut and run,' I'm game. Say, five laps around the Quidditch pitch?"

Moody laughed. "And here I've been working hard trying to put a little romance into your life. I've hooked you up with this cute dementor who's hoping to get to know you better. Just let me know if Hogwarts gets too much for you and you decide to accept that vacation package to Azkaban." With that Moody walked away singing 'Kisses Sweeter Than Wine' and disapparated.

Using the encounter with Moody as an excuse to exercise certain vocabulary he was unable to utilize around students, Snape stomped over to the Hogwarts gate where Filch let him in.

"Good morning, Professor," Filch snarled, smiling being beyond his capabilities.

"Optimist," Snape responded in the same tone.

"Mr. Moody has that effect on me as well," returned Filch. "They're waiting on you."

Snape trudged up the hill and into the entrance hall where he was again surprised, this time by a large number of cases, crates, trunks, and boxes, all labeled with the name 'CEMEH A. POMAHOBCKNN.' Noting the two dots over the second E and the fact that the Ns were reversed, Snape thought back to a more innocent time of fascination with Apollo-Soyuz and a brief flirtation with the Russian language. _Who in the world is Semyon Romanovsky?_ he thought and, still puzzling over this question, walked in to breakfast in the Great Hall.

"Ah, Severus at last!" cried Dumbledore, clearly in a puckish mood. "It turns out, Hagrid, that we shall not need the services of Fang after all. Our prodigal son has returned." Then, as Snape settled next to Sprout at the other end of the table, Dumbledore continued, "I believe I know what your first question will be."

"Who's Semyon Romanovsky?" said Snape.

"Well, no, that was not it. Pity. Would you like to try again? I shall give you a clue. That was the answer to your question."

A feeling of foreboding came over Snape. "Who is the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?" he ventured timidly.

"Got it in two!" Dumbledore exclaimed. "One if you consider that he has already answered the question as well. Clever boy."

"You're upset that I'm late, aren't you, sir?" Snape helped himself to kipper and toast. "May I inquire why Professor Romanovsky's baggage is here, but he isn't?"

"We were about to discuss that when you came in," said McGonagall primly.

"Semyon Aleksandrovich Romanovsky," said Dumbledore, "is professor of Dark Arts at Durmstrang. We are having an exchange of professors this year, and he is joining us while our Dark Arts professor is teaching at Durmstrang."

"Who's our Dark Arts professor?" Snape asked.

"I haven't hired him yet. I shall get around to it soon. Having to spend the year at Durmstrang is not exactly a plus, and I have a dearth of applicants. Luckily it is not so urgent since we will have Professor Romanovsky."

"Won't that upset the staff at Durmstrang," inquired Professor Sprout, "not having a Dark Arts professor?"

"Possibly, though given the generally 'dark' tone of their entire curriculum, they may not even notice. If challenged, I shall blame it on their overriding penchant for secrecy. I shall maintain that we sent a professor who, alas, could not find the school. You see – no harm, no foul." And Dumbledore smiled a particularly beatific smile.

"There is, however, a far more serious matter that we need to discuss. It has not only to do with the comfort and safety of all of us, it concerns the very existence of Hogwarts itself. It has to do with the fact that this is 1984."

"I didn't know you read George Orwell, sir," said Snape.

"I would never read anyone without their permission, Severus."

"Then I take it you never read William Shakespeare?" It was hard to keep the sarcasm out of his voice, but Snape tried.

"Severus," Dumbledore peered over the top of his spectacles, "Shakespeare is dead. Even I know that."

"So is George Orwell."

"Then why would you want me to read him? And do close your mouth, you look like a fish."

Snape closed his mouth. Then he closed it twice more because it wouldn't stay closed. "Sir, _1984_ is a book," he said.

"Ah! A book of prophecy? About Hogwarts?"

"Some people think so. Not about Hogwarts, though." Snape stopped.

"Then it is hardly relevant to the conversation."

_Ignorance is Strength_, Snape thought petulantly, but was quiet.

"As I was saying before we entered a literary discussion, this is 1984, and Hogwarts may have been founded in Anno Domini 985."

"May have been?" Flitwick asked. "You mean no one knows?"

"I do not intend," Dumbledore replied, "to go into the whole business of Dark Age record keeping and the inconsistencies caused by distrust and rivalry, but the unfortunate result of a combination of the two is, alas, no one knows. But it may have been 985."

"Well that is wonderful!" exclaimed McGonagall. "That means we can have a Millennium Party this year – next year – after January! One thousand years of Hogwarts." Around her the other teachers were nodding emphatically, especially Max Kettleburn, who loved any excuse for a party.

"If there is a Hogwarts," replied Dumbledore. "That is the problem."

That got their attention, and Dumbledore proceeded to explain. "Hogwarts was founded at a time of great unrest. Feuds and power struggles, kings being murdered right and left. Invasions by Vikings… Even around us in what we think of as peaceful Scotland, rule was breaking apart into two separate and warring kingdoms. This is why Hogwarts was located here, hidden in the hills."

Few of the teachers knew the actual history, but they nodded sagely anyway.

"When the foundations of the school were laid, and during its construction, the Founders cast a series of powerful spells of protection and support to maintain and secure it as far into the future as they could foresee. They intended the school to last for a thousand years."

"Excellent foresight," commented Trelawney, "to prepare so well for… Oh." The other teachers had already done the math and therefore simply ignored her.

"Remind me to spend New Year's Eve at your hut," Snape stage whispered to Hagrid, which caused Kettleburn to contemplate the Keeper of Keys and Grounds with new respect, bordering on envy.

"Does that mean," Sprout asked, "that the school is going to disappear on the stroke of midnight someday when we least expect it?"

"Oh, no, my dear Pomona. That could not happen," Dumbledore said in a calm, reassuring voice. "Hogwarts is built of stone – true stone, not magicked stone. That will not change. What we have is magical maintenance that is set to terminate at a certain time."

"Great," said Snape. "The warranty is about to expire, and when it does, the castle falls apart."

"He's not serious, is he," McGonagall exclaimed. "Hogwarts isn't simply going to fall down?"

"We do not know, Minerva. We do not know. We need to discover the location of the original spells. And for the duration of the year we need to be especially watchful for any signs that the castle might need… repairs."

The rest of the day felt like walking on eggshells. Crossing the entrance hall, Snape could imagine the massive ceiling crashing down on him from an enormous height. Going down into the dungeons, he pondered the possibility of being buried alive. He even worried about the effect that the mixing together of every potion ingredient in his office would have on that day when all their containers were smashed. It was not a happy time.

The next day was better, primarily because Snape survived the night and the castle still seemed perfectly normal. When he mentioned his concern to McGonagall at breakfast, she looked at him as if he were crazy.

"Severus," she said hesitantly, "it isn't 1985 yet."

"I know that," Snape snapped. "It's just that Dumbledore said we weren't sure about the date. It could have been 984, you know."

McGonagall just shook her head sadly.

Professor Romanovsky arrived on the fifteenth, exactly two weeks after everybody else. "Ah, Professor Dumbledore," he cried, throwing his arms wide to embrace Dumbledore there on the steps going into the castle, where the staff had assembled to greet him, "is so very great pleasure meeting you at last! Is most wonderful time I am expecting here in England!"

McGonagall wrinkled her nose in distaste, but said nothing,

"Semyon!" Dumbledore exclaimed in the identical tone. "I may call you Semyon, may I not? I am generally on a first name basis with all my staff. You are most heartily welcome to Hogwarts. I know you will need some assistance settling in, and I have assigned another teacher to show you your rooms, help you with your supplies, and familiarize you with our curriculum. Severus?"

Snape, who was at that precise moment attempting to insinuate his slender form through the crowd of teachers and into the safety of the entrance hall, cursed his own slowness both of mind and body and turned to the Headmaster. "Why me?" he muttered to Dumbledore, hoping not to sound too ungracious.

"It is only fair, Severus. You are the youngest."

"I'm going to make it my business to go out and find a teacher younger than I am."

"I wish you luck. Meanwhile it would be most acceptable if you assist Professor Romanovsky."

"Acceptable to whom?"

"Why, every other teacher here. Better you than them. Now run along like a good boy and take care of the Professor. We shall see you at dinner, Semyon. If there is anything you need, please do not hesitate to ask… Severus here. He will know what to do." With that, Dumbledore went back into the castle with the rest of the staff, leaving Snape and Romanovsky sizing each other up outside.

Romanovsky was shorter than Snape, but considerably larger. He had dark hair and small dark eyes that squinted in a conspiratorial way. His face had probably been clean shaven earlier that morning, but it was one of those faces that rebels against a razor, and the stubble of the new beard was already coming through.

"I suppose you'd better come in and look at your rooms," said Snape. "The classroom's on the first…"

"Show me first kalmar. Gigantsky kalmar."

"I'm sorry, I don't understand."

"You do not think I make such journey just to be with weak English children? I come to see kalmar!" Romanovsky puffed out his cheeks in exasperation at Snape's blank face. "In lake! In lake!"

"Oh!" Snape cried in sudden comprehension. "Calamari! The squid!"

"Da! Kalmar!"

"I'm afraid you can't see the squid as a general rule. It stays out in the deeper water and never comes to the surface."

Romanovsky touched the side of his nose with a finger. "You think no?" he grinned. "I have tricky sleeve."

"Come with me now," said Snape. "I'll show you your rooms. You can make a date with the squid later." As they entered the castle, Snape found himself wondering just what kinds of tricks Romanovsky did have up his sleeve.

Romanovsky looked around the first floor classroom with a critical air. Finally he turned to Snape and said, "Horrorshow. Ocean horrorshow."

Snape was miffed. "I admit it might not be up to your standards, but the problem certainly isn't as big as an ocean, and to be horrified…"

The new professor laughed. It was a full-bellied, strong laugh. "No, no, Englishman. Is Russian. _Khorosho_ is good. _Ochin_ is very. _Ochin_ _khorosho_ is very good."

"I see," Snape said, and led the way up to the next floor where the office and private rooms were.

Once in the Dark Arts teacher's private rooms, Snape found out what all the boxes and crates were for. One was a samovar, with its little chainik of very strong tea and its great well of hot water. There were trunks of clothes, mostly for cold weather, and there was a victrola.

"What's that?" Snape asked as Romanovsky pulled the victrola from its case.

"Is for music. Russian soul cannot live without music. I have great compositors like Tchaikovsky and Borodin – also most beautiful folk music and army whore."

"Excuse me?" Snape said, turning red. "You don't really mean… about the army…"

"Khor. Great Russian army khor. You know – many soldiers sing together – very powerful."

"Oh," said Snape, reminded of his Greek. "A chorus. I see. It just sounded… Never mind."

"Here," said Romanovsky, handing him a large vial of liquid. "Is one of my sleeve tricks."

Snape removed the stopper and took a tentative sniff. He nearly gagged. "What is this?" he demanded. "It's foul!"

"Is love potion for kalmar. My sleeve will trick kalmar who will think lady kalmar is near to castle. Kalmar comes, and Semyon studies him. This love potion very smelly."

"You can say that again," said Snape, wrinkling his nose. "It's about the smelliest…"

"No, no, no. Smyeliy is Russian word. Means powerful, strong, of great courage – stout heart. This potion will not disappear in water. It will last many weeks, many months. Kalmar will stay where I can study. All year, maybe."

The heaviest boxes contained laboratory equipment and books – and case after case of vodka. "You don't mean to drink all of this in just one year, do you?" Snape asked.

"Not alone. You will drink with me. You are my brat."

"That's Russian, isn't it? Brat, I mean."

"Of course! It means brother. You are now my brat, my brother, and you will drink with me!"

Snape sighed. It was going to be a long year. The only good thing was that he might not remember all of it.

"Here!" cried Romanovsky. "We will drink first toast to new friendship. Okay?"

"Horrorshow," Snape replied.

"Ochin khorosho! I will make Russian of you yet." Romanovsky searched through his belongings and came up with two glasses – two quite ordinary glasses. Into each he poured an intimidating amount of vodka. "Here! To new friendship! Na zdorovye!" He knocked back the vodka in one gulp, then watched Snape like a cat with a new mouse.

Unable to think of a way out, Snape took a deep breath and drank the vodka. It burned like fire, and he started coughing and choking. Romanovsky slapped him on the back with gusto. "Smelly brat!" he roared.

It took another five minutes and another drink of vodka for Snape to convince Romanovsky that he really had to go and get some work done. The vodka was already making him feel light-headed and, as he made his way downstairs, Snape resolved to keep himself as far away from the Mad Russian and his squids and his vodka as it was humanly possible to do.

Romanovsky stuck his head into Snape's Potions classroom a week later. "Brat moy!" he cried, which by this time Snape understood to mean 'My brother,' "I am having need of your work place. I must change my plans."

"Whatever for?" Snape asked, not sure what plans were being discussed.

"Plans for Kalmar are not so good. Look. I have powerful kalmar love potion. I have decoy girlfriend kalmar I shall anchor to rock in lake. Decoy girlfriend will be impregnated with love potion, and Kalmar will remain love stricken and close for very long time."

"So what exactly is the problem."

"Personal safety. I do not wish to be in small boat on lake when Kalmar falls suddenly in love. If Kalmar thinks boat is lady love, or if Kalmar thinks boat is rival, end is same – no more Semyon. I am needing idea to provide time for escaping."

"Why don't you encase the decoy in something that will dissolve slowly in the water taking about an hour. The hour would give you a chance to get away before the squid pheromones began dispersing into the lake."

"Is wonderful. You come up this evening. We drink vodka."

"Uh, this evening isn't good. I have… eh…"

"Shipment of potions ingredients that must be sorted and put away. You lie the way you drink – badly. But you are English and weak. I understand why you are timid in face of man's drink. I will make man of you yet. Not tonight. I may use Potions room for few days for making casing?"

"Certainly. Be my guest."

"You are good tovarishch, good comrade. Some day I may even forget you are English."

News at the next senior staff meeting, held in Dumbledore's office, was unsettling. McGonagall had a report on the condition of Gryffindor tower.

"The shingles are coming loose and falling onto the lawn. Beams under the roof are beginning to show signs of rot. The plaster has acquired some small water stains."

This report precipitated a general recess as the other three heads of houses rushed to their respective common rooms, dormitories, and lavatories to inspect. Snape was not happy with what he found.

"There's dampness at the ends of the corridors," he reported to the staff. "Some water seepage from the lake it would seem. We're getting sediment in the pipes, which could be a sign of cracking. And we've actually had a couple of minor tremors which, considering how far we are from active quake areas, is somewhat disturbing."

The other heads of houses reported similar problems, Sprout being particularly concerned about cracks in the retaining walls. It was agreed that daily inspections would take place.

Snape and McGonagall were walking downstairs together after the meeting, he to the dungeons and she to her first floor office, when their ears were accosted by a strange sound, the deep basso-baritone sound of scores of men singing. Singing in Russian.

They hurried down the second floor corridor whence the music came and, to no one's surprise, found it emanated from the rooms of Semyon Romanovsky. As the two were turning away, the door to the rooms opened and Romanovsky stuck his head out. "Aha! Visitors! You must both come in and have drink. I am enjoying great Russian music."

There was no choice but to enter, and Romanovsky poured drinks all around. To Snape's great surprise, McGonagall tossed off the first one like a pro, then held out her glass for another. Romanovsky regarded her with undisguised admiration.

"This is pleasant surprise!" he exclaimed, pouring the second glass. "I expect weak English woman, and I find Russian soul."

"Not Russian, and not English either," replied McGonagall. "It's time you realized, Semyon old fellow, that you're in Scotland, not England, and we Scots don't take kindly to the comparison or to being called weak."

"English – Scottish – what is difference?"

"Do you know about the Ukrainians? Well, if you call me English again, laddie, I'll do to you what the Ukrainians would do to you if you called them Russian." And McGonagall tossed back the second vodka.

"Oops!" said Romanovsky, but he never referred to Hogwarts as English again.

McGonagall then focused on the music blaring from the victrola, which had been adapted to play records. It was the Soviet Army Chorus and Band in a stirring rendition of the soldier's chorus from the opera 'The Decembrists.' Snape was almost quite enjoying it.

"What's that?" McGonagall asked.

Romanovsky smacked her on the shoulder. "Smelly whore," he replied, and made to return to his music.

It was only the swift interposition of Snape's body between McGonagall and Romanovsky that prevented the immediate spilling of blood.

"It's Russian!" Snape was screaming into McGonagall's deaf ears as she aimed for Romanovsky's jugular. "It means stouthearted chorus – I swear on my mother's grave!"

Romanovsky watched in apparent amusement as Snape wrestled McGonagall out the door and down the stairs to her office, trying en route to explain the confusion of words like ocean and smelly, and by the time he'd located the little bottle of Drambuie she kept for precisely this sort of moment, McGonagall was beginning to be mollified.

"Called you a brat, eh?" she said wickedly as she sipped the Drambuie. "I'm going to remember that. Little brat."

Snape continued down to his own rooms. _It's going to be a long year._

The squid project proceeded in a methodical fashion. Professor Romanovsky spent hours out on the lake looking for both the giant squid and a rock to anchor his decoy to. He came back each afternoon defeated, for the lake was far deeper than he had anticipated.

McGonagall was enormously pleased that even the Scottish environment was resisting the force of the Slavic invasion, and was known to murmur, "Good loch," if Romanovsky appeared particularly glum at dinner.

On one occasion McGonagall was careless, and Romanovsky heard what she said, but he took no offense, quite the contrary.

"I am thanking you for kind thoughts about my plans, lady, but most unfortunately it was all bad luck. There is still no place in lake for looking at Kalmar. But – I will not be defeated yet."

xxxxxxxxxx

Then it was D-Day, H-Hour, and M-Minute, and the train arrived with another lot of lovely angels. Romanovsky was on the lawn with Snape helping maintain order as the thestral carriages arrived. He seemed to find nothing unusual about them, an omission that sparked Snape's curiosity.

They took their places at the high table while McGonagall dealt with the new first years. Romanovsky had never seen a Sorting before, and kept asking about the Hat. He was skeptical about the students being divided evenly between the houses every year, and speculated rather loudly about what house he would be sorted into if he were sorted.

_Not Slytherin, not Slytherin,_ Snape thought. _Please, not Slytherin._

Then the first years arrived with their fresh, shining faces, their neat robes, their purple hair…

"Ho-ho!" Romanovsky exclaimed. "So wizard school is letting ponk children in. Would not happen in Durmstrang."

"Punk," Snape corrected absentmindedly, wondering who the skinny girl with the technicolor hair was and whether he would be stuck with her.

The Sorting was a perfectly normal Sorting, and Snape paid scant attention to it until McGonagall got past the Rs. "Smith," she said, "Winston."

"SLYTHERIN!"

Snape sat bolt upright. _It's 1984 and Winston Smith is being sorted into my house? I don't believe it!_

"Tonks, Nymphadora." This was the purple-haired girl.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

And at the end, "Weasley, Charlie."

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Then the sorting was over and the school year had officially begun.

xxxxxxxxxx

_Sunday, September 2, 1984_

The day after the arrival of the train was a Sunday, so breakfast was later than usual, and most of the students slept late in their dormitories. Snape was one of the first into the Great Hall, where he was able to eat in relatively peaceful solitude.

Gradually others filtered in, but the Hall was still not a quarter full when Romanovsky appeared. He was taking off his cloak as he entered and had clearly been outside. As he settled into the chair next to Snape, Snape could see that the sleeves of his robes were wet.

"Have you already been out to the lake this morning?" Snape asked, not out of politeness but out of true curiosity.

"I was to lake, and did what I must do. Kalmar is now mine." Romanovsky was clearly in an expansive mood, and was loading his plate with food, his early morning excursion having given him an appetite.

"You found a rock to anchor the decoy to?"

"Yes, and is perfect rock. Is great shelf of rock which goes out from cliff maybe fifty meters into lake, and is maybe five meters below surface of water. I kick myself that I do not find this rock shelf before. Like idiot I look too far out in middle when close to land is better. Now Kalmar will come close, and I may study better."

"I would think that fifteen feet under water is still a little deep for good visibility. I've never seen the squid, but aren't the biggest about thirty or forty feet long, tentacles and all?"

"You forget great magic of Hogwarts, moy brat. I have not seen Kalmar yet, but have read that this Kalmar is maybe twenty meters long, maybe longer. Very big, very powerful. Ochin gigantsky kalmar.

Something else was puzzling Snape. "This big shelf of rock, what does it look like? I mean, I've never been in the water off the shore of the lake, but I'm trying to picture the rock formation."

"Is very simple." Romanovsky pulled a scrap of parchment from a pocket and a pencil from another. Quickly he sketched the cliff with its castle, the narrow rocky beach, the water and, extending out from the cliff, just under the surface of the lake, a flat, perfectly uniform shelf of stone, a ledge so evenly and precisely formed that it might have been made by human hands…

Snape felt the blood drain from his face as realization dawned. "How long ago did you put the decoy out?" he asked in a barely audible whisper.

"Maybe hour ago. Something will be happening soon, no?"

"You idiot!" From a whisper, Snape's voice rose in anger and fear. "That's no natural rock formation! That's the exterior of Slytherin house!"

Above and around them, as if on cue, the great warning sirens of Hogwarts began to sound.

Racing down into the dungeons, other teachers and Hagrid behind him, Snape found himself trying to force his way through panicky Slytherin students running up. They were shouting, Snape was yelling, and from below came the terrified screams of more students still inside.

"Wall of Slytherin!" Snape commanded as he reached the spot. "Open and stay open. Allow passage to everyone!" The Wall obeyed, and disgorged another dozen students before Snape could push his way past and get inside.

The common room was already knee deep in water. From the dormitory corridor came more screams and a relentless pounding that shook the walls like an earthquake. Rushing into the corridor, Snape began issuing orders to students still in nightgowns and pajamas. "Get out! Get out now! Put that down! Leave it! There isn't time! Out! Out! Run!"

From the end of the corridor there was the horrible sound of rending masonry, and a huge snakelike tentacle writhed into the building through the crack. The inrushing torrent of water swept three students off their feet and slammed Snape against the wall. Behind him Flitwick and Kettleburn were firing spells of shielding and repair, but nothing seemed to work, not even when Snape added his own spells to them. Water was rising past Snape's waist now, and Flitwick had to retreat or be drowned.

Hagrid was suddenly there. "Y' got to leave Professor!" he yelled in Snape's ear. "The students are out and safe, but none o' the spells is working. Y' got t' get out now!"

More stone crashed into the water, and Snape admitted defeat. Struggling, half swimming, he made his way back to the common room, out the Wall, and up two flights of stairs, for the lowest dungeon was flooding, too. Behind him the lake claimed the ruins of Slytherin house.

Snape made his way slowly up the stairs from the lower dungeons, Hagrid behind him. Everything had happened so quickly that most of the teachers never had a chance to reach embattled Slytherin house in time to do anything. The Slytherin students huddled two dungeons below the Potions rooms, soaked, their wet clothes clinging to them, shivering in the underground chill. Several had been in the lavatories, both boys and girls, and were wrapped only in towels. All were in shock, and many were crying.

McGonagall saw Snape and strode over to him, speaking loudly enough for all to hear. "They'll go into the empty classrooms on the ground floor. The house-elves are lighting fires and bringing in beds and things now. Dumbledore's clearing the Great Hall and the entrance hall so the other students won't be gawking when these children pass through. There are plenty of blankets, but it may be a while before we can find enough robes. Oh, Severus! Did anybody manage to save anything?"

Snape looked at his prefects. Most of them had been dressed and getting breakfast when the alarms rang. Josh Van Zandt gave him a thumbs up. "They saved themselves," Snape answered McGonagall. "All present and accounted for. I think everything else is gone."

"No one lost, that's a blessing. Listen, all of you!" McGonagall was now addressing the students. "Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Gryffindor are being sent to their houses. No one will see you when you leave here. When we receive word, you will go to the empty classrooms in the corridor opposite the Great Hall. Boys in rooms on the right, girls in rooms on the left. It will be warm, and you'll have dry towels and blankets. We shall come around with clothing as soon as we can gather it. The house-elves will serve you breakfast there. Try to get comfortable and stay calm. You're all safe."

Dumbledore came through with one of the house-elves. He beckoned to Snape to accompany him, and they went together down the stairs until they reached the water level halfway between the bottom dungeon and the next one up.

"Tell me again," said Dumbledore. Beyond and below him, the pounding continued.

"It was the squid. Romanovsky was trying to attract it using pheromones. It appears that the beast has developed an affection for the exterior of Slytherin."

"It does indeed." Dumbledore turned to the house-elf. "What do you make of it."

"Biddy cannot make anything of it, sir. Biddy can see nothing there to make anything of. Biddy fears…" The house-elf shifted in agitation. "Biddy fears the presence of a no-magic zone."

"No-magic zone," said Snape. "What's she talking about?"

"Severus, this may be very important." Dumbledore looked grave. "Did you try to fend the attack off with spells?"

"Yes. Kettleburn and Flitwick, too. Maybe others I didn't see. Nothing worked."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing."

"Seriouser and seriouser. As this was the start of the foundation work, it may be that the earliest protection spells were placed here. The earliest cast, the earliest to expire."

"This was caused by Romanovsky's squid!"

"I beg to disagree. First, it is our squid. They were Professor Romanovsky's pheromones, but our squid. Second, the squid could not have caused the damage it did had not the walls already lost their protection. It was only a matter of time. Let us go see to your students, Severus. That is our first concern. Miss Biddy, thank you for your assistance. You may return to the kitchen."

Biddy bowed and disappeared. Snape resented the fact that she could do it and he was forbidden, but there was no sense fretting over that at the moment. He and Dumbledore made their way back up to the dungeon where the students waited. Almost at once, they were told that the rooms were ready. Slytherin house filed up and out, and into the classrooms that had been made over into temporary dormitories. A gate sealed the corridor from the rest of the school, and Snape issued the password _Noah's Ark_.

At the subsequent staff meeting in the Great Hall, Romanovsky was questioned about his role in the recent catastrophe.

"I do scientific research," he said huffily. "I study Kalmar."

"Did you advise anyone that you were pursuing this line of research?" Dumbledore asked.

"Of course. I am not fool. I tell everything to my good brother, to Professor Snape. He knew whole plan."

The eyes of the entire staff shifted towards Severus Snape.

"Is this true, Severus?" Dumbledore asked, peering over his half-moon spectacles. "Were you privy to Professor Romanovsky's plans concerning the squid?"

"Well, in a manner of speaking, sir. He mentioned the general plan, but not that it would have anything to do with Slytherin house or anything this close to shore."

"But you knew about the plan."

There is a sinking feeling that accompanies the realization that everyone else is perfectly content with the idea of a scapegoat, as long as it isn't them. Snape had this feeling. "Yes, sir. He said it was his main reason for accepting the exchange. I assumed he'd spoken of it to you."

"No, Severus, I fear he did not."

"I am begging to differ, Professor Dumbledore," said Romanovsky, to the great astonishment of everyone. "We had quite long conversation about subject. I explained desire to use this method for making study of – how you say – squid easier. By floo."

"No, no. I do not recall that we discussed that. I remember that you did want someone named Paula to buy a mixture, and that it had something to do with making the lake calmer, but…"

Snape began laughing, a somewhat highish hysterical laugh. "Lake calmer? I'm making book right now that he said 'lake kalmar.' Kalmar is Russian for squid, and I'm guessing the Russian word mixture has something to do with a potion."

"Da! You are learning, brat! Polovaya mikstura is potion for stimulating feelings of attraction. He will want to mate, this lake Kalmar, and…"

"Oh," said Dumbledore. "I see. Now that you mention it, I believe I did express a certain reserved consent to the idea. Well, no need to assign blame. What is done is done. What can we do about it now?"

Professor Sprout spoke up. "The students in Hufflepuff are collecting donations of extra clothing for the Slytherin students. Some of them have discussed sharing some of their books for the time being and loaning the others to Slytherins as well."

"That's very kind," Snape said. "Has anyone thought to contact their parents and see if the families can't just send clothing and new books?"

"Would not that be your task as head of house?" McGonagall asked.

"I just thought that given the seriousness of the situation, it might look better if the information came from the Headmaster or the Deputy Headmistress. I'm more involved with the logistics of the situation here, and less with public relations."

"Severus does have a point, Minerva. Why do you not look into it?" Dumbledore's gaze swept the room. "And if anyone else has a suggestion like the excellent one from Professor Sprout, we would be most interested in hearing it. That is all for now. I suggest you all see to your houses and to your classrooms. Instruction begins tomorrow, and it would be good if the Slytherin students could attend their courses with everyone else."

The other houses were generous, and the Slytherin students did manage to attend all their classes in suitable robes. At lunch, however, they informed Snape that Professor Romanovsky was explaining to all his Dark Arts classes just exactly what he had been attempting to accomplish with the Giant Squid.

The first jokes, naturally, came out of Gryffindor.

- How do squids mate? They just slither in.

- What do the Giant Squid and Professor Snape have in common? No real girlfriend.

- Why did the Giant Squid try to break into Slytherin house? It heard Professor Snape likes calamaris, too.

The first Potions classes after lunch were trying, to say the least.

"They're all laughing at me," Snape complained to McGonagall in the interim before dinner. "I found one little imp had covered a page in his notebook with pictures of me being embraced by the squid. These jokes are running rampant through the school."

"I had heard. My favorite is, What do you get when you cross a…"

"Not you, too!"

The two were interrupted by Flitwick who caught them on the way into the Great Hall. "Headmaster wants to see the heads of house. We're having trouble with the owls."

The problem was unexpected and disturbing. "The owls seem not to be able to leave the grounds," Dumbledore told them. "Have any come in since Saturday?"

"None I know of," replied Hagrid, who with Filch had been asked to attend as well. "Not in nor out."

"Do we have anything calibrated to block owls?" Snape asked.

"Not that I know of," replied Dumbledore. Then he smiled that disconcerting smile. "At least we can now point to solid evidence that Hogwarts first opened its doors to incoming students on the first of September 984."

"Most encouraging progress, sir," said McGonagall.

"How will we notify the parents?" Snape asked, not wanting to be distracted from the problem at hand.

"We could try sending owls from Hogsmeade," Hagrid suggested.

"That would cost a fortune, an owl to every family from Hogsmeade!" There was more than one way that McGonagall was true to her Scottish heritage.

"Maybe we could just take our owls out the gate and send them from there," said Sprout, which mollified McGonagall momentarily.

That problem temporarily put to rest, they joined the rest of the staff at dinner. On the way downstairs, Snape overheard McGonagall whisper to Sprout, "What do you get when you cross Professor Snape's mother with Professor Snape's father?" A moment of silence and then, "Something only a squid could love!" and both women giggled madly.

After dinner came two more pieces of horrendous news. The first was that songs were already supplanting jokes. Hogwarts, being a school that did not teach music, had an overflow of budding singers and instrumentalists. Snape came across a talented quartet on the first floor as he made his way up to Romanovsky's rooms. He immediately ducked into a sheltered nook since being forced to secretly overhear the performance was preferable to being observed overhearing the performance.

_Squid will follow Snape, follow Snape wherever he may go... (Ooo-oo-oo)_

_There isn't a la-ake too deep (too deep!), a castle so high it can keep,_

_Keep Squid away – Away from his love…_

_Squid loves him, squid loves him, squid loves him,_

_And where Snape goes Squid follows, Squid follows, Squid follows._

_He'll always be Snape's true love, Snape's true love, Snape's true love,_

_From now until forever, forever, forever…_

The problem was, they were good, and Snape would have admired the harmonizing had it not been for the subject matter. As it was, he had to suffer through four verses and refrains before the group moved on, by which time there was not a jury in the country that would not have considered the demise of Professor Romanovsky justifiable homicide.

"What," Snape demanded as he slammed his way into Romanovsky's office, "are you going to do about that squid?"

"Do? Is your squid. I am only temporary observer. What will you do about squid?"

"You put the decoy on Slytherin house!"

"You did not warn me Slytherin house was there."

"I didn't know it was there!"

"So? Why should I suffer for your ignorance? Is your house. Is your squid. Is your problem!"

The second piece of bad news came at an emergency staff meeting fifteen minutes later.

"We do not understand it ourselves, Hagrid and I," cried Dumbledore over the babble of voices. "All we know is what we experienced. The gate will not open, and there is an impenetrable haze around the perimeter. We do not even know if Hogsmeade is still there. Nothing can get in, and we cannot get out."

It was, at this moment, Snape's ill fortune to be standing next to Romanovsky.

"You see!" the Russian exclaimed with a smirk of victory. "Try to blame that one on squid!"

It was now curfew, and the heads of houses went to their separate charges to be sure everything was settled for the night. Slytherin was adjusting well in its corridor off the entrance hall. One classroom had been turned into a common room, and luckily the first floor lavatories were in the corridor. Snape wished the students a pleasant night, then joined the other teachers in the trek down the hill to inspect the perimeter.

"You don't think this is a serious problem, do you?" Kettleburn asked, walking with Snape towards the rear. "My wife's expecting me home, and she's not going to be happy if I don't show up."

"Can you contact her by floo powder?" Snape asked.

"I don't know. That's a good idea. I'll try when we go back up to the castle. What'll we all do if we can't get out, though."

Snape didn't look at Kettleburn as he replied maliciously, "If you get too lonely, there's always the squid."

The gate shimmered in a pearly fog. Hagrid reached out to demonstrate that it wouldn't open, and got his hand zapped as a warning to other presumptuous wizards. "Ouch! That stings, that does! It didn't do that before!"

"It does seem to have extended itself a bit into the grounds," said Dumbledore.

"Can we get rid of it?" McGonagall drew her wand.

"Better to wait, Minerva. If this is being caused by the deterioration of the Founders' spells, any precipitous action could cause the whole thing to crumple about us like a house of cards."

"That bad?"

"Minerva, the possibilities are endless, and few of them optimistic."

It was decided that the teachers would spread out and try to discover how far the fog – for it was a fog now, and not a haze – extended. Little Lumos lights radiating from their wands, they began the inspection, some heading west around the Quidditch pitch, some east toward Hagrid's hut and the forest, and a few, including Snape, Hagrid, and Kettleburn, due south to see if it continued around the lake.

"It'd be nice if it got the squid," Hagrid observed.

The squid could be heard off to their right as they rounded the castle hill. It was thrashing and pounding, its tentacles breaking the surface of the water to wave in the air. "Doesn't it ever get tired?" Kettleburn commented. "I almost feel sorry for it, all those hopes being dashed like that. It must be angry."

"I did kind of get that impression," Snape said.

The fog seemed to penetrate the forest, and as they turned to go left around the lake shore, it could be seen in the trees that covered the hills on either side, glowing in the light of a moon in its first quarter. It was clear there was no exit that way. Then, in front of them, it angled – actually angled in a very unfoglike way – down to the edge of and into the lake.

"Will you look at that," Hagrid said in wonder. "It's over the water. D' you think it goes under the water, too? I'd expect the merpeople won't be too pleased 'bout that. Or the centaurs in the forest come t' think on it."

"If it doesn't go under water," said Snape, "maybe someone could dive under and get help from outside."

"Sounds like a grand idea. When're you going?"

"You know perfectly well I can't swim."

"What'd you volunteer for?"

Snape glared at Hagrid. "It was a suggestion. Why don't you go?"

Kettleburn interrupted. "It doesn't look like it goes all the way across. Look. Doesn't it look like the fog stops in the middle of the lake?"

It did indeed look that way, which was the first good piece of news so far. Grateful for having something to report, the three turned back, joining the rest in the Great Hall to let the others know what they'd found. The lake seemed to be the only place where the barrier could be penetrated.

The floo powder network wasn't working. The staff that normally commuted were given temporary quarters on the sixth floor, and everyone went to bed, planning to tackle the problem of the barrier and the lake in the morning when visibility was better.

xxxxxxxxxx

_Tuesday, September 4, 1984_

Classes were suspended the next day, and all the students were requested to remain in the Great Hall after breakfast. It was Dumbledore's intention to explain to them the seriousness of the situation and to place an absolute ban on the use of magic inside the castle or near the perimeter. Luckily few of the courses were affected by this since only McGonagall and Flitwick actually used magic as part of their curriculum. They discussed the possibility of holding classes near the Quidditch pitch while the good weather lasted, in the hopes that the problem would be cleared up long before the cold set in.

Meanwhile, Snape, Hagrid, Kettleburn, and Romanovsky went down to the grotto to take out a couple of boats and investigate the center of the lake where there still appeared to be a dearth of fog.

The squid had other ideas.

The moment the first boat stuck its bow out of the grotto, the squid attacked. It lunged through the water like a giant torpedo, then raised itself half out of the water and crushed the little boat in its tentacles. Snape and Hagrid, benefiting from the known properties of adrenaline, were already back by the dock.

"I thought you couldn't swim," Hagrid accused.

"I forgot," Snape admitted.

"Forgot you could?"

"Forgot I couldn't. You know, that is one big squid."

"It's clear we can't get out that way," said Kettleburn, coming up behind them. "How long is that squid aphrodisiac supposed to last, anyway."

"About six months," answered Romanovsky. "Is good quality mikstura."

"Maybe we can take the boats up through the tunnel," Snape suggested.

At first that seemed like a good idea. Hagrid had no trouble picking up one of the boats and carrying it to the tunnel. Ten feet further on, he hit the first snag. The tunnel curved, the boat didn't.

"It ain't going up this way," Hagrid called past the stern of the boat.

"All right," Snape replied. "Just push it back down here to the dock."

There was a moment of silence, then, "I can't push it. It's stuck. If I push too hard, it'll break."

"Break it, then," said Snape. "That tunnel is our only way out."

"I ain't breaking school property. You ain't got the authority to tell me to break school property." Hagrid's voice filtered past the boat with a hollow sort of sound.

Kettleburn drew his wand. "I'll just reduce it," he said, but Snape grabbed both hand and wand.

"No magic!" he shouted at Kettleburn. "We're at the very foundations of the castle near the Slytherin no magic zone! You could destroy the school! Hagrid, listen! The only way we can get out of here is to get the boat out of the tunnel. If you can't move it whole, then you have to break it."

"Not school property, not nohow."

Romanovsky had edged around the grotto's docking area to get a better look at the squid, which was still blocking the entrance. Watching him, it occurred to Snape that the squid's tentacles were long enough to reach out and grab any person in the dock area. He hoped the squid wasn't hungry.

"Who has the authority to give you that order, Hagrid? Dumbledore, right?"

"Him or McGonagall. Headmaster or Deputy Headmistress."

"Good," said Snape. "Go up to the castle now, explain the situation, and get permission to break the boat."

"I don't like it," Hagrid grumbled, but the other three could hear that he'd turned and was stumping his way up the passage. He was back several minutes later. "Dumbledore wants t' know who's paying for the boat. He says he's over budget this year already, and…"

"I'll pay for the boat!" Snape shrieked, and was rewarded by the sound of rending wood. He and the others groped their way up the dark passage to meet Dumbledore on the lawn.

"It would seem," said Dumbledore as they emerged, "that since we cannot use the boats we have, we shall have to make new ones."

The next question was where to get the wood. The fog lapped the edge of the forest, so it wasn't possible to cut down a tree even if they'd known how to hew boards. Hagrid then pointed out that he knew of no place in the castle where they had nails, it never having occurred to anyone that they'd ever have to make something without magic, and when Snape started asking about caulking or otherwise waterproofing the boat, they realized they had a staggering problem. Naturally, the library had nothing so prosaic as a text on boat construction.

"Why don't we build a raft?" Kettleburn asked at dinner that evening after a very unprofitable day. "Rafts don't need waterproofing. And if you build them big enough, they can hold almost anything."

It was a thought worthy of a person with the ingenuity to invest on the muggle stock exchange. "Where do we get the wood?" Snape asked. "We haven't enough beds and tables as it is and…"

He was interrupted by a gasp from Professor Trelawney, two chairs down, who was staring into a teacup. "Oh, dear," she moaned and looked up at Snape with pity in her eyes.

Snape folded his arms across his chest and leaned comfortable back in his own seat. "What sort of demise do you see for me this week?" he asked irritably. "Squished by a squid? Strangled by a cephalopod? Murdered by a mollusk?"

"Stomped by students," Trelawney replied with tears in her eyes.

_Tears of happiness, probably_, Snape thought. "You wouldn't happen to see which students, would you?"

"No, no. But they're all wearing Quidditch uniforms, and from all four houses, too, even Slytherin."

"Great. Quashed by Quidditch players. Can you see why?"

Trelawney sadly shook her head.

"What about the stands?" Hagrid suggested.

"What are you talking about?"

"He's right!" cried Kettleburn. "We could use the wood from the Quidditch stands. I bet they were even put together with nails, so we could use them, too…" He and Hagrid began to make plans, while Snape regarded Trelawney with some concern.

_That was actually a decent idea. I wonder what else she's ever said…_ Then he joined the discussion about the raft.

The next day they first went searching for tools. Hagrid had none other than his umbrella, which was not going to be a lot of use unless it rained. Filch had none either, and could not recall ever seeing any. The house-elves were of no assistance whatsoever, and after Snape spent a fruitless twenty minutes trying to explain what tools were, Biddy went back to her kitchen. As she joined the other elves, she made an arcane elf gesture consisting of twirling her index finger in a circle next to her temple, at which the other elves nodded in agreement.

The next step was to search the storerooms in the dungeons, those at least that were not under water. Unable to use Lumos spells, Snape, Hagrid, and Kettleburn took torches. In a room in the third dungeon level, they found whitewash and brushes, which Snape used to paint arrows on the walls showing the route out, so that they could explore farther into the hill without getting lost.

On the second day of searching the dungeons, they felt the first earthquake. All three were out of the dungeons in a flash – colliding with masses of students in the entrance hall, all streaming in panic – down the stairs, out the doors, and onto the lawn.

Snape found himself next to McGonagall and Sprout. "What caused that?" Sprout asked.

"I don't know," said Snape. "There's no fault here."

"I didn't say it was anyone's fault."

"No, you don't understand. An earthquake fault."

"How can it be the earthquake's fault when the earthquake just happened?"

"It's because of the plates."

"Then you should talk to the house-elves about it. They're responsible for the plates."

Snape was almost relieved when Dumbledore sent the teachers back into the castle to check for structural damage. It had only been a small quake, the kind certain people in certain North American cities treat with disdain, and there was no damage to the castle at all. It nevertheless took them nearly two hours before the last students could be persuaded to reenter the building.

Friday morning they found the tools in the fourth dungeon down. Axes, adzes, chisels, mallets, all the most up-to-date construction equipment of 984. The good part was that it was still in serviceable condition. They carried it all up to the ground floor and put it into the small room off the Great Hall, behind the staff table.

"Did they even have nails?" Snape asked, examining a great wooden mallet and a little iron-headed hammer. "Think of a blacksmith having to shape each individual nail. If they had them, they must have been expensive."

"What would they have used instead?" Kettleburn asked, testing the edge on a chisel with his thumb.

"Wooden pegs, most like," said Hagrid. "But our Quidditch stands is much later than that. Maybe less than two hundred years old. I bet they got nails."

They showed the tools to Professor Dumbledore at lunch, and he gave permission to disassemble enough of one of the stands to make a raft. That afternoon, the three carried the tools down to the Quidditch pitch. Snape was actually enjoying the unusual duty, since other teachers were supervising his classes, and he didn't have to talk to students.

"Why don't we start here?" Kettleburn asked, gesturing to the first stands they encountered, the closest to the castle. Stands that happened to be decorated with green and silver bunting.

"I am not tearing down Slytherin stands," Snape announced. "What house were you in? We'll demolish those."

"Sprout wouldn't be pleased. She'd lace your morning coffee with amanita muscaria."

"How about Gryffindor, then?"

"You do," said Hagrid, "and I'll sit on you."

"Anybody here from Ravenclaw?" Kettleburn asked. There was silence. Not surprising, since there were only three of them. "Ravenclaw it is." He went over to the blue and bronze stands and began assessing a likely looking beam.

"Shouldn't we climb up and take the beams from the upper part of the stands?" Snape asked.

"Why?" said Kettleburn. "It's just more work."

"I don't know. I just thought maybe the lower beams support the upper beams."

Kettleburn studied the construction. "I don't think we have to worry. That upper section is attached to the section next to it."

Snape looked where Kettleburn was pointing. There were certain things that Snape was very good at, but architecture was not one of them. Kettleburn was right about the upper sections being attached, and yet a thought nagged at his brain, something to do with an apple… "Well," he said tentatively, "I would rather start at the top, but if you're sure…"

It turned out Snape was right.

It was really the fourth beam that did it, and then the whole upper level of that section came crashing down. Snape was beginning to have great respect for the nearly miraculous efficacy of adrenaline as he dove from under the collapsing stands. Dusting himself off a moment later, he commented to Kettleburn, "You know, Flitwick's not going to be happy."

"You may be right," Kettleburn said, though he wasn't specific as to what Snape was right about.

"At least we got the beams and boards," Hagrid said, "and there's nails here, too."

With some trepidation, the three reentered the scene of devastation and began sorting out what they could and could not use. The question of nails turned out to be divisive.

"Look at that now," said Hagrid, pointing at a nail Snape had just pounded out of a board. "Y've gone and bent it, and blunted the tip into the bargain. How 'm I supposed to use a nail like that?"

"I don't see that it looks any different from any of the others," Snape huffed. "If my work's not good enough for you…"

"It ain't your work, it's your nails. A nail what's bent and blunted ain't naught but scrap."

"Maybe you don't need me on this job at all, if my work's so shoddy."

"Ya ain't getting out of it so easy. Ya'll give me fifty good nails if ya have to work 'til midnight or else."

"Or else what?"

"Or else I sit on ye."

Kettleburn was all for making the raft right there.

Snape was skeptical of the idea. "Wouldn't it be easier to carry the material to the lake and make the raft there? The finished raft is going to be pretty big and hard to carry."

"I can carry any raft," Hagrid stated with some pride.

"Even one big enough to hold you?"

"Are we making one that big?"

"I thought that was the idea."

This brought on more discussion, after which it was decided to carry the material and construct the raft _in situ_.

Hagrid, to no one's surprise, carried more and went faster. "I don't want to complain nor nothing," he said finally, "but there's some people not pulling their weight."

"We weigh less than you do," Snape pointed out.

"By a lot," added Kettleburn, "not to mention that we have to take three strides to your one."

"Three! Blimey, I'da thought it was two." They set the material done and compared length of stride. "You're cheating," Hagrid told Snape. "Ya don't usually walk so prim and prissy."

"I do when I'm carrying heavy loads of wood."

"I'm tellin' Dumbledore you're shirking."

"I'll tell him you destroyed school property."

Hagrid didn't fall for that one for more than thirty seconds. "Ha! He told me to destroy it. You got nothing!"

"I can't put anything over on you, can I?"

They picked up the material again and carried it to the eastern lake shore where the beach area was wider. It took several trips (fewer for Snape and Kettleburn who were still slower) and by the time they were finished, they were late for dinner. Construction would have to wait until the next day.

"Though I don't see," Snape complained, "why I have to give up my weekend."

"Do you not want to be able to leave?" Dumbledore asked. "Or receive messages from your friends and family?"

Snape glared at him.

"Sorry," said Dumbledore. "I do tend to forget."

"Besides," Snape said, "right now things are fine. Sure we had that little flood, but now that Slytherin's settled in and the others are watching my classes – I think this is the nicest year I've had so far at Hogwarts."

"Don't get too comfortable," said Sprout, who was passing Snape's part of the table at that moment. "You've got two hundred thirty potion samples to evaluate and grade, and a stack of papers."

"What?"

"We'll watch the little darlings, but we're not grading the homework."

"Oh, yes," added Dumbledore. "No magic, remember."

"I'm reevaluating my priorities," said Snape. "We work on the raft tomorrow."

Saturday morning found the trio back by the lake where Hagrid was explaining to Snape how to drive in a nail.

"Ya hold it like this, thumb and forefinger, then ya hit the head of it with the hammer."

"Like this? OUCH!"

"Now that there were the wrong kind of nail. Ye're supposed to hit the metal one."

"Give me that hammer!" After a while, Snape was pounding nails like a pro. It helped if he thought of each one as Hagrid's head.

The raft took two days to make. It shouldn't have, but it did.

"Why did you attach your section to ours upside down?" Snape asked Kettleburn. Kettleburn's beams were above and his planks below.

"Because you did it wrong. This part's supposed to be on top."

"I don't think so," said Snape. "If the beams are under the planks, it adds buoyancy. If they're above the planks, they just push the planks under water."

"That makes no sense at all. They're either buoyant, or they're not."

"And besides, what are those loops?"

"Oarlocks," Kettleburn declared defiantly. "You don't want to lose your oars, do you?"

"No warlocks," Hagrid declared from behind them. "I got enough trouble with wizards. And no women either. It's bad luck."

"Who mentioned women?" Kettleburn challenged.

"You did."

"OARS!" Snape cried in exasperation. "You know. Paddles with long handles."

"Oh. Naturly. We ain't got none of them. The boats move by magic… Oh."

"We could use long narrow planks," Snape suggested, and the other two concurred.

There was still the problem of relative buoyancy, so they spent the rest of Sunday morning detaching Kettleburn's section from the rest and testing each configuration separately. Kettleburn, proven wrong, was about to stomp off in a huff when Hagrid simply turned his section over. The two parts now matched almost perfectly, but it was lunch time.

"This is much harder than teaching," Snape confided to Hagrid on the way up the hill.

"No it ain't," said Hagrid, "and if you was in front of a class right now, you'd say so. You're just never content with what you're doing. Always looking for greener grass."

"I am so content."

"One time. You just tell me about one time."

Snape was, for once, at a loss for words.

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	5. Chapter 5 – 1984 – 1985 2

This story was written well before JKR announced in an interview that Tonks was Hufflepuff. At the time, therefore, what her house had been was anybody's guess.

**Severus Snape: The Middle Years – The Fourth Year, 1984-1985 (2)**

_Monday, September 10, 1984 (the full moon)_

Hagrid brought a bottle of champagne to the launch of the raft on Monday morning. Snape thought that was a little excessive, but Hagrid was convinced it would bring them good luck. Other than the builders, the only observers were Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Romanovsky.

Standing by the raft in magnificent self-importance, Hagrid raised the champagne bottle. "I christen ye…" he began, then stopped. "What're we calling it?" he asked.

"Titanic Two?" Snape suggested, but was ignored.

"How about HMS Hogwarts?" said Kettleburn.

"Her Majesty," Snape said with great dignity, "has not commissioned it into the Royal Navy."

"Oh, is that what that means? I thought it was just a saying, you know, like bangers and mash."

"Haven't you ever eaten bangers and mash?"

Kettleburn stared at Snape. "You're supposed to eat it?" he said at last. "Live and learn."

"What about," Dumbledore offered in an attempt to pacify the situation, "THS Hope?"

No discussion took place. Hagrid cried, "I christen ye 'THS Hope,'" and swung his champagne bottle against the raft. A few splinters flew at the impact, but nothing serious. The raft was ready for its maiden voyage.

"THS?" Snape asked. "What's THS?"

"The Hogwarts Ship. I thought that would be obvious."

Snape was beginning to get tired of Dumbledore's beatific smile.

Naturally the next question concerned who would be on the raft. Snape tried to use calculations about displacement of water to prove that he should stay on shore, knowing that none of the others would understand the figures or the concept, but in the end the age-old age argument won – you're the youngest, it has to be you.

Then Kettleburn displayed a talent for legalese that would have gotten him certified as a barrister in any country that processed such applications by mail in an ultimately futile attempt to have Hagrid be the second member of the crew.

The victor in the debate, Hagrid, was generally conceded to have won as a result of his sudden and oft expressed intention to sit on people, sometimes several simultaneously.

"It's better if it's you anyway," McGonagall confided to Snape. "You think faster in an emergency."

"Is that a hint that under normal circumstances I'm slow?"

"Irritating boy. Do you want to hear the latest? How do you know you're in Snape's bedroom?"

"I'm going. I'm getting on the raft. Do you see me leaving now?" Snape clambered onto the boards and refused to even look at McGonagall, who was pursing her mouth and endeavoring heroically not to fizz.

The two men loaded a length of rope onto the raft and shoved off from shore with two of the planks, thereafter using the boards as paddles. It was slow going, the raft having been constructed to carry, if need be, Hagrid in addition to themselves. They paddled laboriously without seeming to make any progress, and the sun was nearly at its zenith when Snape realized they were approaching the center of the lake.

"Look," cried Kettleburn, pointing ahead and to the left. "There is a break in the fog."

"Yes," Snape said, peering forward, "and by great coincidence it happens to be just wide enough to accommodate that swirly thing in the middle."

"What swirly thing?"

"Look at the air in the gap. Doesn't it appear to be rotating?"

It was indeed rotating. It looked a little like a horizontal whirlpool, and it even seemed to be sucking some of the lake water up into it. "Fascinating," murmured Kettleburn as he stretched out a hand.

"Don't touch it!" Snape screamed. "What are you, an idiot? What do you mean trying to stick your hand into something like that? Didn't your parents teach you anything when you were a kid? Don't take candy from strangers, don't get into an unfamiliar car, and never stick your hand into a paranormal phenomenon!"

"I just wanted to feel it."

"Right, and pull yourself, the raft, and me into some alternate universe. It's not you I'm worried about, frankly. I can't swim, and I need the raft."

"What's an alternate universe?"

"A place where the opinions of the informed and educated are respected."

Kettleburn laughed. "If you're talking about yourself, that place doesn't exist. Come on, we've got to test it."

"And how are we going to do that?"

"Throw something into it. See what happens. What have you got?"

Snape wasn't fooled. "What have you got?" he countered.

They emptied their pockets there on the raft. Between them they had seven nails, two galleons, a sickle, three knuts, a five-pound note, the stopper from a potions bottle, two bowtruckle teeth, a wedding ring (Kettleburn's), an old-fashioned pocket watch (Snape's), and a ten foot length of cord, plus the rope on the raft itself.

"I say tie the cord around the ring and toss it in," said Snape.

The brief altercation centered around Kettleburn's love for his wife and the fact that he topped Snape by about four stone. In the end, Snape sacrificed for the good of all. The cord was tied around Snape's pocket watch at one end and Kettleburn's wrist at the other. Just to be safe, the men tied the rope around their waists with the idea that Snape could pull Kettleburn out of trouble if the phenomenon proved stronger than he was. Fairly certain of what they were doing, Snape watched as Kettleburn tossed the watch into the center of the swirling air.

The watch went into the spinning vortex and disappeared. At once the cord tied to Kettleburn's wrist tautened. "It feels like it's tugging a bit," he told Snape.

"Pull it back out," Snape said.

Kettleburn tried, without success. "It's stuck." He pulled again, but there was no noticeable change for several minutes.

"Max," said Snape after a while, "are we closer to that thing than we were before?"

"I don't think so. It's hard to tell. If we are, we're moving very slowly."

"I don't want to move at all." Snape looked around for something to attach onto the cord. The only thing was splintered wood from where Hagrid had smashed the champagne bottle. Snape took a V-shaped splinter and hooked it over the cord as close to the vortex as he dared. After staring at it for another couple of minutes, he told Kettleburn, "We're definitely getting closer."

Kettleburn pulled on the cord. Instead of bringing the watch out, the movement made the raft inch closer to the moving circle. Too late, Snape understood the fatal flaw in their plan. There was no traction in the water. They couldn't pull anything out of the vortex. They could only pull themselves farther in.

"Untie it!" Snape urged Kettleburn. "Cut it! Get that cord off you as fast as you can!"

Kettleburn picked at the knot, but it was too tight. Snape tried to loosen the strands with one of the nails, but the knot wouldn't budge. They had nothing to cut it with, and the cord was too thick to break.

"I don't believe I'm going to get killed because of a string!" Kettleburn yelped. "Do something!" He started waving with his free hand at the others on the shore, yelling, "Help! Help!" They were too far away to hear or to realize what was happening.

To his everlasting credit, it never occurred to Snape to untie the rope around his waist. If it had occurred to him, he would have done it, not being the type to allow himself to be dragged into a paranormal phenomenon for love, money, Kettleburn, or his pocket watch. The thought simply never entered his head. Instead he lowered himself into the water on the opposite side of the raft from the swirling air.

"What are you doing?" Kettleburn shouted.

"I'm going to try to move in the other direction."

"You can't swim."

"There's got to be a first time." Snape launched himself away from the raft, hoping his momentum would stop its slow movement. The equal but opposite reaction merely pushed the raft farther in the direction they didn't want it to go.

Kettleburn's hand was almost touching the vortex. He began shrieking, "Do something! Do something!" Snape thrashed helplessly in the water and began to sink. Kettleburn's fingers entered the spiral of air and he started to scream, just as something long, sinuous, and snakelike wrapped itself around Snape's right ankle and began to pull.

Any thought Snape might have had about not panicking vanished instantly. His attempts at screaming only got him mouthfuls of water, but he began to flail and kick at the thing holding him as it tried to drag him away from the raft.

The rope between Snape and Kettleburn tightened, and suddenly it was a tug of war between the vortex and the cord on one side and the creature clutching Snape's leg on the other. Other snakelike forms thrashed and pounded the water around him, and the tension on the rope around his waist would have prevented Snape from breathing even if his head had been above water. He felt as if he was being torn in two, lungs burning from lack of oxygen.

Then, suddenly, the tension was gone. Snape was pulled rapidly away from the vortex and down deeper into the water. Just as he was about to pass out, knowing he had drowned, he was lifted clear of the water and found himself lying on his stomach on the raft, a raft now several yards away from the vortex.

"Severus! Severus! Are you all right? Are you alive?" Kettleburn was pounding him on the back as Snape coughed up about a quart of water and sucked huge gulps of air into his lungs.

"What happened?" Snape was finally able to say. "Where are we?"

"We're on the raft. The cord broke. That beast was just too strong for it, and the cord broke." Kettleburn's wrist was bleeding where the cord had cut deeply into the flesh. "It was the squid! That beautiful ugly monster just saved both our lives!"

After resting for a moment and allowing their heartbeats to return to a more normal speed, Snape and Kettleburn paddled back to the shore. Hagrid waded as far out into the water as he could to help them come the last part of the way. "What happened out there?" he asked. "Looks like you was attacked."

Dumbledore was deeply concerned. "The squid went for you," he said. "We saw it break water about halfway from Slytherin house and it stayed at the surface the rest of the way. It was obviously attacking you. I was about to disobey my own ban on magic near the perimeter when it released you."

"It's good you waited," Snape replied. "It wasn't trying to hurt me – at least I don't think it was. It actually saved us from that thing out there in the middle of the lake." He quickly described the vortex, with added color commentary from Kettleburn.

"You must both of you go at once to the hospital wing and allow Madam Pomfrey to check you, especially that cut, Maximilian. Then come to my office all of you, and we shall discuss further courses of action. I would prefer, however, that Professor Romanovsky not be included at this point since we may need to talk about the technicalities of the defenses. Must not allow that to get to Durmstrang, now must we?"

They all trudged slowly back to the castle, McGonagall contriving to be next to Snape. "I think it was jealous," she whispered. "I think it believed you'd found someone else and were having a tryst. It just wants you all to itself, it does, the poor love-stricken beastie."

"You're going to tell Sprout."

"You can't expect me to pass up a story like this, can you?"

"You haven't a feeling heart in you, you haven't."

McGonagall smiled. "By the tentacle trimmers and the cuttlefish cream on the nightstand."

"What's that?"

"The answer to the last joke. See you upstairs, Severus."

A half hour later they were in the headmaster's office, Snape and Kettleburn in dry clothes and warming next to the fire. Kettleburn's wrist was heavily bandaged since Pomfrey couldn't use magic to heal it.

"It wasn't anything strong," Kettleburn was explaining, "just a slow, gentle kind of tension, but if you gave it any slack, you couldn't pull it back. Look what happened to the cord."

The cord appeared to have been cut rather than to have broken. There was a cleanness to the break that implied a sharp object.

"How then did you come out of it with your hand intact if your fingers had already entered the space?" Dumbledore inquired.

"Maybe they didn't really go in. I could still see them. It hurt, though. Like something was stretching the fingers and they were going to break soon."

"I would hesitate to put anything else into that phenomenon as it seems likely it could be badly damaged. Let us turn our attention for the moment to the matter of the squid. Insofar as I am aware, it did not pay any attention to you or the raft until Severus entered the water, and then it moved with frightening speed. We thought it was attacking. I am relieved that I did not make the mistake of driving it away."

"Why would it be attracted to Severus?" McGonagall asked. "Aside from his beautiful squidlike qualities, of course."

"Did you not tell me," asked Dumbledore, "that Professor Romanovsky worked on the aphrodisiac in your rooms? Might some of it have touched your person or your clothing?"

"But that would have been more than a week ago," McGonagall said. "I'm sure Severus would have washed his hands…"

"Thank you for that vote of confidence." Snape smirked at McGonagall across the room. "It's a possibility, but not a strong one. There were several components, some of which dissolved quickly, thus attracting the squid at once, and some that are dissolving more slowly, guaranteeing the effect will last for a considerable time. Any quick dissolving molecules I picked up would have been washed away within a day or two."

"Besides," added Kettleburn, "the squid didn't try to… uh… assault Severus. It saved him and then put him on the raft. Hardly the action of a pheromone crazed lover. I wish there was some way to find out what it was thinking."

Snape stared at Kettleburn. "Of course," he said. "Paul Hooper."

Snape went for Hooper himself, forgetting that going downstairs at the end of the afternoon meant running the gauntlet of suddenly free students. This time it was another song he dodged.

_There's nothing Snape can do to get away. (doo-doo doodle-oo)_

_Nothing Snape can do to stop Squid's play. (doo-doo, doodle-oo)_

_Nothing Snape can say but Squid will think it's a lovers' game_

_No nothing._

_There's nowhere Snape can run to and be free. (doo-doo, doodle-oo)_

_Nowhere he can hide that Squid can't see. (doo-doo, doodle-oo)_

_No one who can help Snape find a place he can be alone_

_No no one._

_All Squid needs is Snape (doo-doo, doodle-oo),_

_All Squid needs is Snape, (doo-doo, doodle-oo)_

_All Squid needs is Snape, Snape – Snape is all Squid needs._

And of course the refrain kept going on forever.

Snape found the most out-of-the-way and infrequently traveled staircases to make his way down to the new Slytherin 'house.' Hooper, luckily, was in the room designated as a common room.

"What's in it for me?" Hooper asked when Snape explained part of what was needed.

"Don't you want to see your parents again?"

"Not particularly."

Snape thought about this for a moment and decided it was not the time to bring up Moody. Instead he asked, "Don't you want to be able to go into Hogsmeade?"

"I'm a second year. I'm not allowed in Hogsmeade."

"What if I could get them to make an exception?"

"I'd consider it."

"Spoken like a true Slytherin. Whatever were your parents doing in Gryffindor anyway?"

"We figured the Hat had a sense of humor."

On the way up to Dumbledore's office, Snape tried to prepare Hooper for what was being asked of him. "Have you ever shown anything to a creature like a squid?"

"Nope."

"How about a fish?"

"Nope."

"An amphibian? A frog, maybe?"

"I got Beulah Witherspoon's toad to jump all the way up to the fifth dungeon by showing it fly larvae."

"That will do."

It was no harder to get around Dumbledore. "Now I know, Master Hooper, that you will be pleased to be able to assist your fellow students and your school…"

"Professor Snape says I can go into Hogsmeade."

"Now, Hooper. I said I could ask."

"I thought it was a given."

Dumbledore watched the two and chuckled slightly. "That hat," he said. "It does know its business, does it not? Very well, Master Hooper. A premature visit to Hogsmeade, maybe several premature visits, is on the line. Will you help us?"

"'Course. I'd 've done it without Hogsmeade, but you never pass up a chance to bargain, right Professor?"

Snape sighed deeply and conceded defeat. "You just be sure you find something worthwhile," he warned Hooper.

"I guess that depends on what it wants to show me. Are you welching on our agreement already?"

Snape shook his head, then accompanied Hooper down to the boat grotto while the rest of the school dined in comfort. _I have to renegotiate my contract_, he thought on the way down. _This was never in the original deal._

There was the question of whether to stand at the entrance to the grotto where the channel was just deep enough that the squid could approach, yet where they could run if need be, or to go out in a boat where the squid would be more comfortable, but they would be in more danger. Snape opted for the entrance. They stood there for ten minutes, then Snape bent and dipped his hand in the water.

The squid's arrival was not tentative. It shot forward, Snape shot backward, and Snape banged his head against the rock of the cliff. The squid remained twenty feet away, and Snape was glad he wasn't in a boat.

"Talk to it," he told Hooper.

"I have to look at it. In the eyes. Where are it's eyes?"

At that moment the squid angled its body sideways to watch. The eye that regarded them was bigger than a dinner plate. "Never mind," said Hooper. "I found it."

It took a little negotiating for Hooper to get close enough to establish contact, but once he did the squid became quieter. "What does it say?" Snape asked after a moment.

"It wants to know where you put her."

"Put who?"

"The other squid. It knows you have her in your… your shell."

"My what?"

"Your shell. It pictures you as some kind of crazy hermit crab that can walk around outside its shell. Slytherin house is the shell. It thinks the female squid is in the shell, and it doesn't know what she sees in you because you're an ugly little crab, and it wants to make her acquaintance."

"You're making that up."

"Well I'm elaborating on it and toning down the rough bits. Bottom line is you have her, it wants her, and you're alive because it thinks you can deliver."

"Why does it think it's me and not Dumbledore, or Hagrid?"

"You were down there when it broke through the wall. It saw you. It smelled you. It knows you live there."

"Great. Tell it there is no female squid."

Hooper backed away from the shore. "You tell it," he said. "I don't want it mad at me when I'm standing right next to it."

"Just tell it, and be ready to run."

Hooper fixed his gaze back into the squid's eye. "It doesn't believe me."

"Why not?"

"It can smell her. If it can smell her, then she's here. If she was gone, the smell would weaken. It knows she's in there."

"Tell it this was a trick. There was never a female. Just a trick."

Hooper turned to Snape in exasperation. "You do realize that I'm talking to something that's second cousin to a garden snail, don't you? It's big, but it's not really bright. It can't understand the idea of a trick. It wants you to bring out the female."

Snape thought about this for a while. If the squid thought he could help, maybe the squid could help. On the other hand, if the squid thought he wasn't going to help, the squid would be angry, and Snape could never go near the lake again. Ever. "Do you know what a coral reef looks like, Hooper?"

"Yeah, sort of."

"See if you can get it to understand that Hogwarts is like a coral reef, and that there are many creatures living inside. Tell it I'm not the one that has the female, but I'll try to help get the female for it."

"It wants to know which one has the female."

"Professor Romanovsky. Tell it Professor Romanovsky has the female."

The squid departed to wait, and Snape and Hooper went back up the grotto stairs to the castle. Snape was internally debating the relative advantages of suggesting that Semyon Romanovsky go for a little swim.

That evening they had the second earthquake. Like the first, it was relatively small, and this time they had fewer problems with the students, many of whom never even ran for the stairs. It made Snape think, though.

"What if you were right the first time, sir?" he asked Dumbledore the following morning. "What if the school did open for students in September 985, and what's happening now is because of what was happening during the construction period the year before that? The water areas got the first series of protective spells, and then the hill foundations. So now Slytherin house goes first, and then the dungeons. If we knew the order of construction, we could predict the next spot that would fail."

Class schedules were entirely rearranged as the older students were drafted into a major research project. Every room, every file, every book in Hogwarts had to be searched for information about the Founding. It was a monumental task. There were rooms in Hogwarts that had not been visited by anyone but the house-elves in generations. Because Dumbledore was commandeering more of Snape's time, the NEWT level Potions students took over the lowest level classes, while the rest of the staff continued their supervision of the older students.

Unfortunately the house-elves themselves were of no help since they did not understand the problem.

On the fifteenth, Snape and Hooper went again to contact the Giant Squid. Snape let Hooper read his memory of the mid-lake vortex, and Hooper asked the squid what was under it. In order to refresh its memory, the squid left for a few minutes to inspect the middle of the lake. The easy part was that the squid had merely to show Hooper the image of what it had seen. The hard part was that Hooper had to describe it to Snape.

"He doesn't like it. It scares him and even though he wants to fight it, he doesn't dare."

Snape noted the change in pronoun, but forbore comment. "What did it see, and what didn't it see?"

"There's some kind of creature that used to live all over the lake that's gone now," Hooper said after a few minutes. "They look kind of like mermaids, but they're uglier. And they had houses, a whole village, between here and the middle of the lake. The houses are there, but the mermaid things are gone."

"What else?"

"Under the surface, that fog stuff looks like a thin curtain. The squid doesn't want to touch it. He thinks it's dangerous. He's happy there's still fish – he's got something to eat."

Back in Dumbledore's office, Snape made his report. "The merpeople got out. They abandoned their village and they left. The squid doesn't know why, but he thinks it has to do with the phenomenon, which extends under water. There isn't any whirlpool thingie down there, but the squid doesn't want to go near it.

September extended into October with no apparent change in the situation. Dumbledore still refused to permit magic in the castle and around the perimeter for fear that an alteration in the temporal environment might set off a chain reaction.

In some ways it was a very tense time. In others it was quite relaxed. Any and every tidbit of information gleaned by students or staff went up to Dumbledore, who pondered it all.

At exactly the time of the next full moon, just at midnight as Tuesday the ninth of October slipped into Wednesday the tenth of October, they had the third earthquake.

Snape was still in his office, dressed casually in trousers and frock coat, studying a manual on Amazonian potion brewing. At first he dismissed the shaking as a repeat of the first two minor quakes, then realized it was not stopping. He rose from his desk in his office to go to the door, but some instinct of self-preservation warned him, and he did not follow through on the action. Instead he stood still, feeling the hill shake around him, and then he knew the danger.

Not a moment too soon, Snape leapt for the counters and the slits of windows over his head, up near the surface of the hill. Beneath his feet, the dungeons were collapsing.

The earthquake had a voice now – stone ground on stone and beam and boulder crashed against each other. Snape's fingers found the latch on the window and pulled it open, as doors on cabinets were flung open and their contents hurled to a floor that no longer had underpinning support. He grasped the window ledge and sprang upwards.

The window was narrow, but Snape was slender, and as the dungeons shimmied, shook, and groaned, as crumbling mortar showered his office with dust, he wiggled his way through the slit and out onto the grass on the south side of the castle.

Staggering to his feet, Snape hurried east to the front of Hogwarts. Three hundred people, students and staff milled in confusion on the moonlit lawn. Snape looked around for Dumbledore, who wasn't there, and realized he must be inside. Skirting the crowd, Snape entered the building to find Dumbledore and Hagrid in front of the collapsed ruins of the entrance into the dungeons. Hagrid was tugging at the immense stones.

"Severus!" Dumbledore was shouting. "Severus! Are you all right!"

"I think so, sir," Snape said, standing right behind Dumbledore. "But it was touch and go for a moment."

"Severus!" Dumbledore cried happily. "What are you doing out here? You are supposed to be in your rooms."

Snape took a quick step back to avoid being hugged by Hagrid, who tended to forget his own strength when emotional. "I was, sir. I climbed out the window."

"Then the passage is indeed blocked?"

"I wouldn't know. I didn't have a chance to look. My floor was in the process of leaving me, and I didn't want to chance being on it when it left."

Dumbledore glanced down at the floor of the entrance hall with some trepidation. "You mean the whole dungeon area has collapsed?" he asked. "What then is holding up this floor?"

There was immediate consensus to continue the conversation outside on the lawn.

"Someone must go back into the dungeons and see if there is any danger of the whole castle falling down," Dumbledore said to the assembled teachers.

Snape, sensing where this was going, tried to become invisible, with little success.

"Now, Severus, do not be shy," Dumbledore smiled at him. "You know that you are the most qualified for this task. These windows that you climbed out of, you know that Hagrid could never crawl through them, or Maximilian either. Who else among our staff is slim enough and agile enough to perform the task?"

"Flitwick," Snape replied.

"I said agile."

"What about a house-elf? They'd have a better chance of detecting residual or deteriorating magic than I would."

Dumbledore peered at Snape for a moment. "You may have a point there, though I was looking forward to your performing yet another dangerous and complex job. You are rather fun to watch, you know. Well, a house-elf it shall be."

They got Biddy out of the kitchen, and the whole staff went around to the south side of the castle where the window slits into the upper dungeons were. She crawled through, and Snape, kneeling next to the window and peering down into his office, could see her gingerly testing the stability of the floor as she edged around the room near the wall, then to and out the door.

_Is it this easy to see into my office?_ Snape thought. _I'd better check if you can look into my bedroom, too. I wonder how many students have been spying on me in the last three years._

Biddy was back in about twenty minutes. "Biddy has looked at all the dungeons near the stairs, sir. The old, broken magic is gone now. It is a no-magic zone. Biddy has seen that some floors are broken, sir, but the walls are strong."

"Will there be any more earthquakes?" Dumbledore asked. "Is the castle in danger?"

"No, sir," Biddy said. "Earthquakes from this magic are finished. This side of the hill has no more problems. Professor Snape can go back in. No more will fall. Sir, it is not a good place for house-elves. No magic places are never good for house-elves."

"What about the other side of the hill?" asked Professor Sprout. "What about Hufflepuff house and the kitchens?"

Biddy looked sad. "There is breaking magic near the kitchens, too. Professor Dumbledore, Biddy is very worried. All house-elves are very worried. But the other side is not like this side, with so many walls and rooms. The other side will not fall."

That, at least, was good news, and they sent Biddy back to the kitchens. The students were also informed that the castle was safe, and were sent back to their houses to try to get some more sleep. It was now about two o'clock in the morning, and everyone was heading back to their rooms. Except Snape, of course.

"Sir," he asked Dumbledore, "where am I going to sleep?"

Dumbledore turned on the stairs, "You? Why, in your… Yes, I see the problem. Unfortunately, Severus, we do not have any more beds in the castle. What with the flooding of Slytherin house and the extra staff that cannot leave… well, we are doubling up on beds as it is. I fear Professor Flitwick's bed is too short. Would you like to share with Professor Kettleburn?"

"No," said Snape, "I wouldn't." Then he added morosely, "I'll just crawl in with the owls."

"The owls would not like that." Dumbledore took pity on Snape. "There is a sofa in my office," he said. "You are welcome to use it for the rest of the night if you promise not to snore."

The next day at breakfast, Snape approached the other heads of house with a request. "Just a couple of students, preferably bright and brave. They have to be small – the smaller the better."

McGonagall let her gaze travel up and down Snape's slender form. "Do you mean small short, or small skinny? I've got a couple of thin ones if being built like you is what you're looking for."

Snape winced at the physical description. "I barely made it through the office window, so smaller than me is preferable."

"What about strong?" Sprout asked.

"I don't know yet. We don't know what's still standing, so small and agile is better than tall and strong. Probably the younger ones. Sixth and seventh are doing research in the library, and fifth has got to keep up with their OWL work just in case we get out of this mess in reasonable time. And I need people who aren't trigger happy with a spell."

"Can't help you, I'm afraid," Flitwick said. "Dumbledore's got every available Ravenclaw student working on the research. It's the house specialty, and they're being used more efficiently there."

"Bright and brave?" said Sprout. "I've got methodical, hard working, loyal, dedicated, and sensible. Any use for any of those? Assuming I could find one as malnourished as you?"

"Guess it's you," Snape told McGonagall. "Especially if I don't overemphasize the bright part. A couple of small, brave ones will do."

He got one third year boy, tall and thin, and a first year girl, small and skinny. The boy had red hair. The girl's was racing green. He'd decided to hold off on Slytherin students until the benefits became clearer. Always work with your strengths.

"Weasley, isn't it?" Snape asked the boy, remembering him as undistinguished from his Potions classes. Without waiting for an answer, he turned to the girl. "And you are?"

"Tonks," she replied without elaboration.

"Good," said Snape. "Now you two are the front line in the battle to save Hogwarts. You're here because of your exceptional talents…"

"I thought we were here because we're thin," said Weasley, and Tonks nodded.

"Well. Yes. In this case that counts as a talent." Snape paused, then folded his arms and looked at the two. "What did Professor McGonagall tell you?"

"She said," offered Weasley, "that you needed some sacrificial lambs for a suicide assault, and that only Gryffindor had the necessary… courage for it."

"Professor McGonagall said," Tonks added. "that I've got more than any three Slytherins put together."

"McGonagall said that?" Snape asked, impressed. "Maybe you will do after all. You are aware you can't use any magic?"

"Yes, sir," both replied, and Tonks continued, "I haven't been able to use any magic since I got here."

"Probably for the best," said Snape. "Theory first, then practice."

He led the two over to the narrow windows at the southern base of the building. "I'll go in first, then if the floor is safe, you follow me." Weasley gave Tonks a thumb's up sign. "What's that for?"

"Sir, Professor McGonagall thought you'd make us go in first. I said you'd go first. She promised to waive a week's assignments if I was right."

"Thank you for that vote of confidence, Master Weasley. Now, if you would follow me…" Snape slid feet first through the window onto the counter and from there to the floor. The center part of his office had crashed to the dungeon below, but a good rim of stone about ten feet wide still clung to the wall. It seemed secure around the edge of the room. "All right, Master Weasley, your turn."

First Weasley, then Tonks slipped into the office. The three carefully skirted the hole in the center and edged toward the door. Snape noticed that both students lingered longer than necessary at the door to his bedroom, and assumed all of Gryffindor house would know about his sleeping arrangements before dinner. There was no help for it. Once in the corridor, Snape took a small box from a pocket and extracted a tiny stick with a red tip.

"Oh!" Tonks exclaimed. "Matches."

"That's right," said Snape, lighting a torch in one of the wall sconces. "And you treat them like gold. These are the only matches in Hogwarts. We lose these, we lose fire and heat. How do you know about matches anyway?"

"My dad's a muggle," Tonks said simply. "My mom… she says you know my aunts."

Snape froze for a second, trying to think of any sisters he might have met in Hogwarts. It had to be Hogwarts because he knew there were none with the… "It doesn't ring a bell. What aunts of yours would I know?"

"My aunt Cissy and my aunt Bella. They don't talk to us though because of my father."

Snape yelped as the match he'd been holding burned his fingers. "Your mother's a Black?" he exclaimed, though with his fingers in his mouth it sounded more like 'Yo muver's a Bwack.'

Tonks nodded. It seemed she was used to this kind of reaction.

_Is that why your hair's green?_ Snape thought, suddenly suspicious. _Are you trying to tell me you know about my turning Sirius's hair green?_ It was not a good time to be thinking such thoughts. Without another word, Snape led the two along the rubble-strewn passage toward the Potions room. A few yards along, they were blocked by a collapsed beam and fallen stone. _I'm going to have to study medieval architecture. How do you get a wooden beam in a stone castle?_

"It's too small for me," Snape told the children. "Tonks, do you think you could crawl through there? The Potions room is on the other side."

"Can't you just move this stuff?"

"Not without magic. Even if I could shift it, it might make more fall down. As it is, right now it's stable."

"I think I could get through," said Weasley, "if I knew it was clear on the other side." He was on hands and knees studying the gap near the floor. "Look here, Tonks. Do you think you could make it?"

"Sure. Do you really want me to?"

"All you do is crawl. Otherwise, don't touch anything. Then we'll be fine." Weasley stood and brushed some of the dust from his robes.

"Wait a minute," said Snape. "What do you mean, 'don't touch anything?' Is there something I should know?"

Tonks was already wiggling through the narrow space as Weasley lifted an earnest thirteen-year-old face to Snape. "Professor, do you know what the word klutz means?"

Snape had to confess he didn't.

"Well then," continued Weasley, "how about 'bull in a china shop?'"

"Oh," Snape said quietly, then called over the rubble, "Tonks, don't touch anything!"

"Yes, sir. No, sir," came the reply.

"Are you in front of the Potions room door?"

"Yes, sir."

"Try opening it."

There was a moment of silence, then Tonks's small voice drifted back to them. "Sir," she asked, "how do I open the door without touching it?"

There was merit in the question. "Tonks, you have permission to touch the door handle."

"Thank you, sir."

Weasley's brow was furrowed in thought. "Don't you keep that door locked, Professor?"

"Magical locks. If the house-elves are right, they don't work anymore."

"It's open, sir," Tonks called.

"Can you see inside?"

"It's very dark, sir. Can you move the torch a bit to… Oh!"

"Tonks!" Snape called. "Tonks, what's wrong?"

"I didn't do it, sir! I swear. I didn't touch anything!"

On Snape's side of the rubble, Bill Weasley was already on the floor and crawling into the gap.

"You okay, Tonks?" Weasley said from the other side of the stone.

"I didn't touch anything," Tonks repeated. "Honest."

"There was an earthquake," Snape called through the fallen debris. "Things like that happen in an earthquake." Internally he was calculating the possible number of things that might have been thrown from their cabinets. "What does the damage look like, Weasley?"

"Can't say, sir. It's all dark."

"It shouldn't be that dark. It's daytime, and there are windows near the top. Narrower than the ones we came through, but still windows."

"Don't see any, sir."

Snape thought for a moment. "Are there any torches on your side of the barrier?"

"Yes, sir. Several," Weasley replied.

"Good. Do you know how to light a match?"

The pause after this question was far longer than Snape would have liked. He had the distinct impression the two were whispering. "Tonks does, sir," came the response.

"All right. I'm going to slide the matchbox as far along as I can, then Tonks, you can get it and light one of the torches. Let Weasley hold the torch."

"Yes, sir."

The first part worked fine. Snape put his torch in a sconce, knelt by the collapsed stone, and reached, then slid the matchbox as far as he could. From the other side, Tonks retrieved it. Snape heard the girl's sigh as she stood up, Weasley's cautionary 'Mind the lintel,' and the rasp of the matchbox opening.

"Oh no!" cried Tonks, and there was the sound of dozens of wooden matches skittering on the flagstones.

"Let me…" Weasley started, but Snape stopped him.

"Don't pick them up! Brush them all to one side away from where you're going to strike the match. Weasley, you keep a firm hold on that torch. Tonks, as soon as you light the match, give it to Weasley so he can light the torch. Weasley, there's another sconce on your right as you go into the room. Leave the torch there before you start searching."

"Yes, sir."

The following murmured conversation was not encouraging:

- 'Drat!'

- 'I thought you knew how.'

- 'I do. I've watched my dad dozens of times.'

- 'You never did it yourself?'

- 'I'm not supposed to play with matches.'

- 'There, you got it!'

- 'Drat!'

- 'What are you doing?'

- 'I need another. They only work once… Drat!'

"Weasley!" Snape called. "Put the torch in a sconce in the corridor. Don't give it to Tonks, put it in the sconce. Bring the matchbox and two of the fallen matches and come over here. Tonks, stay where you are and don't touch anything."

It took less than a minute to explain the concept of a match to Weasley and to demonstrate its application. The boy was successful on his first attempt. He was sent back with instructions to light the match and torch only after the torch had been placed in the sconce inside the Potions room, a plan with which young Weasley was in full agreement. A moment later the corridor was enhanced by the gentle glow of the torch from within the classroom.

"Tonks," said Snape tentatively, "would you pick up the scattered matches and replace them in the box? Don't let them strike the side of the box, please."

"Yes, sir."

"Crikes!" exclaimed Weasley in a tone that Snape had been dreading. "It's a mess in there! There's stuff all over the floor and…"

"What color is it?"

"Sir?"

"What color is the stuff all over the floor?"

"Uh, well, it's sort of… a kind of magenta, sir."

"Don't step on it. Whatever you do, don't step on it."

"What is it, Professor?" Weasley asked, sounding a touch nervous.

"I don't know," Snape answered, wishing he could see what the children were doing. "I mean, there are four possibilities, two of them harmless and two of them highly caustic." He thought for a second. "That means they'll burn through your shoes and dissolve your feet," he added, not certain if they understood the word caustic.

"Okay, sir," Weasley called back, and then in a lower tone, "You stay out here in the corridor, Tonks, until we're sure it's safe." Louder again, "What do you want us to do now, Professor?"

"Are there places where the floor is clean? Where you can walk around and look at things?"

"Oh yeah, lots."

"Good. You know the numbers on the cabinets. Are there any where the contents were not spilled onto the floor?"

Several minutes later, Weasley was back with the news that most of the spillage was from cabinet five, and that the others seemed reasonably intact. The only bad thing about this was that it increased the probability that the magenta 'stuff' on the floor had to be avoided.

For the moment, Snape concentrated on cabinets one and two, which contained most of the ingredients for healing potions and salves. Weasley took them off the shelves and passed them out to Tonks. It seemed to be going smoothly…

"Dang!" Weasley exclaimed, followed by the crash of breaking glass, and a scurry of shoes on stone. "No, Tonks! Stay out of here! You're not supposed…"

Then the girl began to shriek.

"She stepped in it, Professor!"

"Get her out of there! Get her shoes off, her socks!"

"Merlin, Professor! That hurts!"

Snape was on the ground, trying to get through the narrow gap to the Potions room but it was too small. His heart was pounding like a hammer, and his breathing was shallow and rushed. _Water! There's no water they can get to!_ "Weasley! Look for salves that say 'Restin.' on the top! R-E-S-T-I-N Open it – break it if you have to – and rub it on the burns…" Pulling out his wand, Snape disobeyed Dumbledore and tried spells, praying the building wouldn't come crashing down on their heads, but the house-elves were right, and magic wouldn't work. He tried shifting the massive stones, but with no better result except to scrape his fingers and wrench his shoulder muscles.

Over Tonks's continued shrieking, Weasley called, "I can't find… Wait, here's one… It's stuck…" and the sound of more breaking glass. The girl continued screaming, but the tone changed to one more of fear and hysteria than of pain.

"Tonks!" Snape called. "You've got to come out! Crawl back through the gap and I'll fix your feet!"

On the other side of the stone, Weasley, too, was trying to calm Tonks down enough to get her to move. Soon Snape could hear her edge her way into the gap, still crying, moving slowly. Too slowly.

"Hold out your hands, child. Let me pull you through. Stick your arms out, and let me help." It took some encouraging, but finally she pushed her hands forward where Snape grabbed them and pulled. Tonks slid easily toward him.

Lifting the little girl in his arms, Snape called to Weasley, "Follow us out and get Madam Pomfrey. I'll be by the lake!" Then he turned as fast as he could in the dim light and uneven floor and rushed for his office and the window. Once there he sat Tonks on the counter, climbed out, and pulled her up. The way down to the lake was in front of him. He could get there in a fraction of the time it would take him to get to the hospital. Racing down the narrow path with the child in his arms, he waded out into the water and plunged her into its coolness while she clung to him like a leech.

The girl quieted down, and as Snape rose from the water, still carrying her, he was trembling uncontrollably. "Idiot!" he hissed. "Stupid, clumsy fool! You can't obey a simple instruction like stay out of a room!" He knelt and laid her on the shore, then took out his wand. Here, far enough from both dungeons and perimeter, the magic worked, and he began a low healing chant.

Pomfrey arrived a few minutes later with more healing salves. Hagrid and Dumbledore appeared as well, and young Weasley. "It looks all right," Pomfrey commented, examining Tonks's feet. "You two certainly moved fast. Come, child, we'll get you to the hospital, and take care of the rest quick as can be." Hagrid picked Tonks up, and it was then that Snape noticed her hair had turned to a dull mousy brown.

"Good work, Severus," Dumbledore said. "That certainly took quick thinking."

"Just keep her away from me," Snape replied, not caring who heard him. "That girl is a walking disaster waiting to happen."

Hagrid glared, then he and Pomfrey marched up the hill with the girl, Dumbledore behind them.

"Weasley!" Snape called to the boy as they, too, walked up the cliff face. "What was that word you used?"

"Klutz, sir?"

"Yes, that one. What does it mean?"

"I'm not sure, Professor. I heard it from one of the first year Slytherin students when they were leaving their Potions class. Gunzburg."

"Thank you."

Lunch was about to start. Snape went into the Slytherin corridor on the ground floor and told his prefects to assemble the students.

"After lunch I need small people to help remove potions ingredients from the dungeon area. The smaller the better. Fifth and seventh years note that the students helping me will be helping you prepare for your OWL and NEWT exams, so treat them well. Also, the ingredients we're getting may be our only source of medicine and healing remedies until we can get through the magic barriers. So for the moment the smallest are the most important. The rest of you remember that."

Snape chose six students, two second year boys, a first year boy, and three first year girls, one of whom, a diminutive child with frizzy dark hair, turned out to be Miriam Gunzburg.

"What's a klutz?" Snape asked Gunzburg as he sat with the students at the end of the Slytherin table during lunch to brief them on their task.

"You must've met the Tonks kid," Gunzburg replied. "They don't come klutzier than that. It just means someone who's really clumsy."

"What damage has she caused in my classroom?"

"Tipped over a couple of cauldrons, spilled stuff, stuck a spoon in Charlie Weasley's eye… That one was really funny. She has this problem going up stairs…"

"I get the picture. All right, you'll be going into the Potions room through my office and under some debris in the corridor. We'll use torches for light. Under no circumstances are you to touch the spilled material on the floor of the room. In fact, you're going to take some containers of water, and if you get any of it on you, wash it off immediately and come out of the building so we can treat you. Your job is to bring out as many undamaged containers of potions ingredients and as much equipment as you can as long as it's easy to reach and doesn't endanger you. Got that?"

They got it, and at the end of lunch they followed Snape out of the castle and around to the south side.

"Be careful," the first year boy said. "Big Brother's watching us."

"What?" Snape said, glancing quickly around.

"My big brother, sir. He's over there watching us. He always wants to catch me doing something."

"What's your name?" Snape asked, though he was pretty sure he remembered it.

"Winston Smith, sir."

_Great. I'm with Winston Smith in 1984, and Big Brother is watching us._

They worked all afternoon, the larger Slytherin students helping to carry the ingredients and equipment into the castle. Dumbledore assigned a couple of rooms on the fifth floor to Snape for his classroom, his office, and his private quarters. Snape started scrounging for tables and chairs, desks not being good for brewing potions, but he was unable to find a bed or any furniture for his private room. He could get his clothes out of the dungeon room, but none of the furniture would fit through the window.

"Where am I supposed to sleep?" he asked Dumbledore, having explained the problem, and was given permission to move Dumbledore's sofa down from the tower office to the fifth floor – something of a chore without magic.

That was when Snape realized he was being followed. No matter where he went, no matter what he was doing, every time he turned around he caught a fleeting glimpse of a little girl scooting behind a post, a pillar, a door, a statue to hide from his gaze. A little girl with magenta hair.

He mentioned it to McGonagall at dinner. "The Tonks girl is shadowing me."

"I'm not the slightest bit surprised, Severus. No one's ever saved her life before. I do believe she has a crush on you."

"I didn't save her life. Weasley already got her shoes off and put on some of the salve. I just got her out where I could do healing spells…"

McGonagall grunted. "And from what I hear, you pulled her from a pile of stones, lifted her through a ceiling-height window, jumped from a cliff and practically let yourself be drowned, holding her in your arms all the way, your heart pounding like a…"

"You don't know anything about my heart! She doesn't know anything about my heart!"

"You were carrying her. Maybe she could hear it. The damsel in distress being rescued by a knight in shining armor…"

"You know," Snape said icily, "you have a wicked, wicked soul."

"I know. And you have a devoted admirer." McGonagall pursed her lips as Snape narrowed his eyes at her. She was just about to start fizzing when Snape turned and stomped away, trying very hard not to have a crockery-throwing fit right there in the Great Hall.

Romanovsky glanced up as Snape settled beside him. "Is most interesting," he commented casually. "Is little girl at far table making, how you say, puppy dog eyes at you, you know."

"Shut up!" Snape snapped. He stared stubbornly at his plate all during dinner in an effort not to look at the Gryffindor table.

Dumbledore stopped by Snape's chair at the end of the meal. "It does appear as if we have arrived at an impasse regarding the perimeter and the deteriorating magic. Unless and until we find something in the books, or something else occurs, it would probably be a good idea for you to resume teaching your classes."

"Yes, sir," said Snape, not really pleased at the prospect. That night he had trouble sleeping, though it was probably because of the sofa more than anything.

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_Friday, October 19, 1984_

Friday morning was Snape's first lesson with the first years from Slytherin and Gryffindor. It was hard getting used to a fifth-floor room where the windows let in too much light and there were no large cauldrons. In addition, students had to double up on the tables since there weren't enough for a table per pair. So far things had been predictable, since he knew most of the students from previous years. And, of course, the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw first years were their usual hardworking and dedicated selves. The Slytherin/Gryffindor combination was the tricky one.

"I have been, for the last seven weeks, evaluating your potions and checking your written assignments, and I must tell you that I have not been impressed. Granted that you have not had the advantage of a trained, consistent Potions instructor, but one would have expected some improvement. I have seen none. Weasley, why is one always supposed to work near a source of clean water?"

"In case you get thirsty?" The Weasley boy – Charlie, brother to Bill, Snape thought – grinned as the others giggled.

"A well-considered answer, Weasley, like every piece of work you have ever given me. You are doing so well, in fact, that we shall have to have you sorted into first year again next September. Would you like to come to the front of the class now and mix bat bile into cobra venom without the benefit of clean water around in case your concoction boils over? No? Anyone else?"

Tonks raised her hand, her face glowing.

"Yes, Miss… eh, Tonks."

"Sir," Tonks said, with careful emphasis on the honorific, "water is both acid and base neutral, so it can dilute and neutralize many ingredients that might be harmful. Even lake water is useful for this." Then she smiled shyly.

"Quite correct." Snape paused. "I now wish to observe your budding potions brewing techniques. There is an assignment on the board" – here Snape turned a rotating blackboard by hand, not being able to use magic – "for preparing a fingernail growing potion. The ingredients are simple, the preparation routine, and I expect perfect potions from everybody. Less than perfection is the equivalent of a zero as a score."

The ingredients were ready on a side counter, and the students rushed to get them. Snape cornered young Weasley and made him help Tonks carry hers because of the earlier injury to her feet, an action that got him a fawning gaze of utter devotion from the girl, who managed to brew her own potion without major mishap. It was, however, a situation so utterly foreign to Snape's experience that it frightened him. As soon as the last student had turned in the last poor excuse for a fingernail growing potion, Snape left the room for the lunch break and for something far more important.

He had to talk to Hagrid.

"So," said Hagrid, opening the door of his hut enough to talk, but not enough to let Snape in, "run out of other things to do? All them classes you been teaching since school started finally get too boring?"

"This is not the time for games. I need your advice."

"Right. No time for a chitchat over a cup of tea or even a 'Mornin' Hagrid, how're ye doin'?' – but when he needs help… building somewhat for example…"

"It's a girl."

Hagrid did a passable imitation of McGonagall in one of her fizzing moods. "Thought you had somewhat in common with the Giant Squid. Seems I was wrong. Come in then."

Snape sat at the table while Hagrid got him a cup of tea. Nothing had changed since his school days when he'd come here regularly for physical checkups and monitoring. Nothing except… "Hagrid, what's that?"

"What, lad?"

"That big cage-looking thing in the corner."

"That? That there's a rat trap. Made it for Slytherin house. Ya got a youngster there as is scared of rats."

Snape sighed. "First year boy, right?"

"You got it. Now tell me about the girl."

"She's Gryffindor…"

"That ain't nothing new. Ya always was climbing over the wall after them Capulets."

"She's eleven."

Hagrid put his cup of tea carefully on the table. "That there's fifteen years come January, lad. I don't think…"

"I'm not in love with her, you big oaf! She apparently has a crush on me."

"Why?" In the stillness that followed, Hagrid tried to amend the over-abruptness of his response. "I mean, what would she see in you? Hogwarts is full of likely lads – good-looking ones with pleasant personalities – so what would…? I mean, it ain't like I ever seen 'em tearing each other's hair out over ya… I mean, well, ya ain't no Prince Charming!"

"Thank you, Hagrid. And now that you've finished stroking my ego for the day, may we please get back to the problem at hand?" And Snape told Hagrid about Tonks.

Hagrid chuckled. "Dang, I'd 've loved to see that. You running down that cliff with that wee thing in yer arms, heart pounding…"

"Leave my heart out of this!"

"Oho! A mite sensitive, are we? Ya ain't going all big-brotherish over her, are ya?"

"And you can leave Big Brother out of it, too."

"As I look at it now," Hagrid said after a pause, "ya got three choices. Ya can stomp on her, ya can ignore her, or ya can encourage her."

"I don't want to encourage her. I have enough problems."

"You and everyone else in this place, so I don't see as how that makes ya special. What about her? She's got a crush on ya. Now if that ain't a problem t' beat all, I don't know what is. Can ya imagine the heartache that poor thing's enduring, not t' mention the scorn of her house mates?"

"Fine. It's been put into perspective. Now what do I do?"

"How's she doing at Potions?"

"So-so. Except this morning she made a fairly decent one."

"No mishaps? No one caught on fire, no explosions?"

Snape folded his arms across his chest. "You know more about this girl than you've let on."

"I hear things. I'd say if ya want t' keep yer classroom from being wrecked, ya better not stomp on her. Ya don't want t' encourage her, so ya got t' ignore her."

And that was all the advice Snape could get out of Hagrid that day.

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_What do you get when you cross Tonks with the Giant Squid? A girlfriend for Snape who has ten left feet._

_What does Snape need to have a menage a trois with the Squid? Oxygen Tonks._

_Did you hear about the new student in Potions? Nymphomaniac Tonks._

"I hate my first name," Tonks said to Snape after Potions the following Friday. "What does 'nymphomaniac' mean?"

Snape felt his face reddening as he suggested, "Why don't you ask Professor McGonagall that question?"

Tonks did, and the explosion could be heard down in the Slytherin corridor. Forty-three Gryffindor students, twenty-six boys and seventeen girls, were put on detention that weekend, and the seventh floor had never been cleaner. Tonks herself started developing a fierce right jab and left hook, and began to use them on anyone who even whispered the name 'Nymphadora.'

Peace reigned – a tentative, fragile peace – for less than a week at Hogwarts.

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	6. Chapter 6 – 1984 – 1985 3

For the benefit of the bewildered, this story was written well before JKR announced in an interview that Tonks was Hufflepuff. At the time, therefore, what her house had been was anybody's guess.

**Severus Snape: The Middle Years – The Fourth Year, 1984-1985 (3)**

_Halloween, Wednesday, October 31, 1984_

There was precious little to celebrate on a day to day basis. The houses couldn't even play Quidditch since the brooms were behaving erratically. Dumbledore therefore decided that this year's Halloween celebration would be magnificent, an antidote to the general depression brought on by the lack of contact anyone had had with the outside world since the first of September.

Hagrid had a magnificent pumpkin patch to provide jack o' lanterns and pies. All Halloween morning, the elves were busy decorating the Great Hall with representations of cats and bats, and all the images of Samhain. Lunch was simple that day to allow everyone more opportunity to enjoy the night's feast.

The first hint that something was wrong came to Snape later that afternoon in the person of a Gryffindor prefect with a message from McGonagall to meet her at once in the Great Hall. Snape dismissed his last class of the day and hurried downstairs, joining other teachers heading in the same direction. A sense of impending doom was beginning to form in Snape's stomach.

McGonagall stood just inside the doors of the Great Hall, facing the house tables and the high table on the dais. She looked greatly perturbed. Turning to see why, Snape realized with a jolt that the Hall was exactly as they had left it at the end of lunch. A glance at the others showed his own surprise reflected in every face.

"Why haven't the dishes been cleared away?" Trelawney asked, voicing everyone's thought. "Shouldn't this have all been cleaned up hours ago?"

"Merlin," Snape breathed, and pushed his way through the little crowd of teachers back to the doors, Kettleburn and Sprout now behind him. Together they ran to the entrance next to the stairs that led to Hufflepuff house and the kitchens. Especially the kitchens.

It was like boarding a ghost ship on the high seas. Meat roasted on spits over great fires. Sauces bubbled in pans. Bread baked in ovens. On one sideboard, pie plates lay with the unbaked crusts half on. Partially peeled carrots and potatoes were heaped at another work station. At yet another a basket had fallen, scattering apples across the stone floor.

And over everything there hung a deathly silence. There was not a single house-elf left in all of Hogwarts.

"Go tell Dumbledore," Snape said to Kettleburn, then to Sprout, "We've got to get the bread out of the ovens. It'll burn."

"Is it that important?"

"Professor, if what I think has happened has happened, we're going to need every scrap of food we can save, starting with the bread."

There were no potholders or dishtowels in the whole kitchen so, with no time to lose, Snape removed the academic robe he wore over his usual clothing and doubled it up to protect his hands as he pulled the bread pans from the heat and handed them to a similarly protected Sprout to carry to the tables. They were halfway through when Dumbledore and the others arrived to survey the deserted kitchen.

"My word," said Dumbledore. "This is unexpected. We are fortunate that you, at least, knew what had to be done, Severus. Is the bread still edible."

"A little dry, sir, but good enough."

"Most fortunate." Dumbledore continued, "It would be a pity to miss the celebration. Is there by chance anyone among us who knows how to cook?"

From behind Dumbledore came McGonagall's sweet, coaxing voice. "Cook? My goodness, Severus dear, didn't you take up a little bit of cooking a couple of years ago? I seem to remember you bought a few books."

"Severus dear!" exclaimed Trelawney. "Minerva, have you lost your sen… Ouch!"

"And you, my darling Sibyll," McGonagall murmured through clenched teeth as she extracted the toe of her shoe from Trelawney's ankle, "will shut up if you have any desire to eat for the next seven months." She smiled at Snape, "Something about beef Stroganov, as I recall."

"Well, there you have it," cried Dumbledore. "We have a chef!" and nothing Snape could say would dissuade him.

The only thing to do was to organize. "I want," Snape demanded, "every muggle born and half blood student in the school down here in the kitchens. I don't care what house they're in. And until I find out what I'm working with, don't count on eating any time soon."

They were a mixed crew. Most of the muggle borns knew at least something about a kitchen, like the fact that cooking a meal took more than five minutes, but not all of the half bloods were any more useful than a pureblood would be. Some knew how to crack eggs and boil water, but some were good for nothing but stirring, and others could scarcely be counted on to sweep the floor.

McGonagall brought Snape two more – Bill and Charlie Weasley. "Do they know anything about cooking?" Snape asked.

"No, but they have an unusual fondness for eating, and are willing to learn."

"I'll take them," Snape said.

The meat was already roasting. The turkeys were stuffed and ready to go into the ovens. The elves had mixed batter for cakes and dough for pie crusts before their sudden exodus. Snape scraped together a small supply of knives and other utensils and showed his troops how to peel potatoes, assemble pies, chop vegetables and, most important, brew coffee.

The first steaming cup of coffee in his hands, Snape looked around at the activity. As the enormity of what was happening settled in, his fingers began to tremble. _Three hundred people! We have to feed three hundred people! And not just tonight – every day!_ He felt ill.

As dinner time came and went, Snape hurried to the Great Hall. The rest of the school was assembled and barely patient as Snape strode down the aisle to face Dumbledore in front of the whole school.

"May I make an announcement, sir?" Snape asked.

"By all means."

"Ladies and gentlemen," Snape began, turning to the house tables as he spoke, "the routine for serving dinner is hereby changed. The food is in the kitchen. There is no magic available. Until we do an inventory of the food we have in store, all portions are rationed. Any person who does not care to go to the kitchens themselves and get their own rations will not be eating. Any person who complains about the food will not be allowed to eat it. Any person who assists in the washing up will get extra portions. I suggest that the headmaster and teaching staff go first. That is all." And with that he strode back out of the Hall.

It was a chastened group that lined up and filed by the door of the main kitchen to get Halloween dinner that evening. They had a choice of meat, they had vegetables, bread and potato. They had apple and pumpkin pie. They did not complain, and no fewer than twenty-five large and still hungry boys showed up to wash dishes and wolf down more food.

Snape had spent the entire evening in the kitchens supervising. It boggled the mind how much time was needed to serve three hundred people, and by the time the last pot had been scrubbed and put away, he was exhausted. _There has to be a better job than this. Mucking out stables at a polo club perhaps, or gutting fish on a pier. Anything._

And, of course, there was also the enormous job that awaited him on the morrow. The task of finding exactly how much and what kind of food the house-elves had left them, and how long they could expect it to last without spoiling.

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_Thursday, November 1, 1984_

Snape wanted to get up at dawn the next morning and somehow, with the overwhelming lack of true country experience that formed his background, he had the idea that this could be accomplished by borrowing one of Hagrid's roosters. He brought the obnoxious creature up to the fifth floor in a cage he snitched from Kettleburn and introduced his new alarm clock to the surroundings. He fell asleep in the firm conviction that the bird would wake him before sunrise.

It did. It woke him at one forty-five, and it woke him at two-twenty. It woke him again at three-fifteen, three fifty-six, four-thirty-seven, four-fifty-five, and finally, right on time, at five-thirty. "Coq au vin," he told the bird as he left for the kitchens with a notepad (paper, not parchment) and a pencil. "The first time anyone asks for coq au vin, it's you."

Past the torchlit entrance hall, everything was dark. Snape thought with trepidation of the one precious box of matches lodged in his breast pocket and noted, _Show students how to bank fires._ He lifted a torch from its sconce and went into the kitchen, lighting the kitchen torches from it and putting it back in its sconce before he returned to his new fief.

The first things were the stores. A small door to the right of the scullery led to several levels of supply rooms. The underground rooms, luckily, were very cool, but whatever elf magic had prevented spoilage thus far would no longer be working.

Dairy came first. Cheese would last for months and eggs for weeks, but milk would sour in days. _How do you make yogurt? How do you make cheese, for that matter? You use milk to make bread, don't you? What about crackers that last longer? Cakes or candy – isn't sugar a preservative?_

The meat was another problem. _Salt. I can salt some of it, the pork and… or smoke it. Smoked fish lasts a while. I could can things if I had the jars._ In a third storeroom, Snape grieved for the lettuce and the berries, then thought of chicken salad and raspberry jam.

Some things were a blessing – flour, sugar, rice, coffee, beans, barley, tea – potatoes, apples, carrots, onions, and garlic if they were sorted often enough and allowed air. Spices and herbs were packaged and dry. Nuts and winter squash. Vinegar and wine. And everything as fresh as if had been picked the day before – the day when the elf magic vanished. All he needed was a plan of use and things he could do with the more perishable items to keep them…

"Severus?" It was Dumbledore's voice invading the store rooms. "Severus, are you planning anything for breakfast?"

_Breakfast! I have three hundred people to feed!_ Snape raced upstairs and into the Great Hall where the school was gathering. They quieted at once at his presence, for meals are a major part of a teenager's day, and their meals had suddenly taken on a precarious existence.

Sudden, rapt attention was something that Snape could usually get from a class through pure intimidation, but the respectful silence of the whole school was a new and heady experience. Snape paused for a moment, then glanced at Dumbledore, who nodded.

"Potions," Snape informed the silent Hall, "are the correct combination of the correct ingredients in the correct sequence, under the correct conditions, at the correct temperature, for the correct time. Cooking is the correct combination of the correct ingredients in the correct sequence, under the correct conditions, at the correct temperature, for the correct time. Your Potions classes have just become cooking classes. You pass if no one develops ptomaine poisoning on your shift. I want NEWT level students in the kitchens now!"

Most of the upper level students were sent to the storerooms to bring back eggs and cheese, milk and mushrooms, scallions and herbs, ham and bacon, butter and jams, while the others were set to slicing bread from the day before for toasting. A quick mini-lesson on cracking eggs was followed by another on the techniques of chopping mushrooms and scallions, followed by a full lesson on omelets. Another contingent was then sent for oranges, more perishable than either apples or lemons, and set to the task of making juice. The pumpkins, which would keep longer, were saved for another time. Some of the milk was for the omelets, but much of it was for drinking.

The coffee and tea were prepared by Snape himself. The school lined up to be fed.

Vegetarian students were permitted to dip into the now hoarded stores of oatmeal and cereals, which would become more and more valuable as time passed. One habitual vegetarian, Monica Fletcher of Ravenclaw, bravely announced that she would sacrifice herself for the good of all by eating the perishable animal products first and saving the longer lasting plant items for later. Her altruistic gesture was marred by her being later heard to admit that she'd been searching for two years for an opportunity to eat meat that her parents couldn't get angry with her for.

Breakfast was a success. Snape's morning potions classes gathered in the kitchens to learn the fine points of baking bread and making chicken Kiev and Caesar salad.

While the students worked, Snape himself exited the castle, went around to the west side, and lowered himself into his former office and private rooms. Among the wreckage and debris of what had once been his life, he found several cookbooks.

The lack of house-elves soon made itself felt in other areas of life.

"Professor Snape, what's wrong with the beds?"

Richie Gamp looked puzzled rather than panicky, so Snape decided the problem must be minor. "I didn't know there was anything wrong with the beds."

"They're always messy, and the sheets are wrinkled."

"Have you tried making your bed?"

"Professor, why would I want to make a bed? I already have a bed. Besides, we don't have the wood or the…"

Snape decided he had to inspect Slytherin house.

"Professor," cried Andrew Colfax as Snape walked through the gate into the Slytherin corridor. "I'm so glad you're here. We're trying to figure out how to get new towels."

"Why do you need new towels?"

"Well we've used the old ones and now there aren't any more of them."

"Have you tried washing them?" The utterly blank look Snape got at this question confirmed that there wasn't a single muggle-born student in Slytherin house and that every one of the little darlings had a parent that used magic at home. He tried again. "You know, soap and water?"

That question suddenly brought another fear into Snape's mind, and he rushed out of Slytherin house into the kitchens where the morning crew was preparing breakfast, and from there into the store rooms. There was nothing there but food. He then went back up and into the scullery where it quickly became clear that they were almost out of soap for washing the dishes. Snape then went into the Great Hall, trying not to look as upset as he felt, and succeeding poorly.

"What's wrong, Severus?" Dumbledore asked. "You look like you've been eating lemons. Sit down."

"We don't have any soap," Snape replied. "Do you know what this place is going to be like soon, with two hundred eighty teenagers, twenty adults, and no soap?"

Dumbledore considered this for a moment. "Never having experienced the situation before, I must say no, I do not. But I can imagine."

"And the plumbing. I'm not a plumber. What happens if the toilets break down?"

"Are you sure there is no soap, Severus?"

"Headmaster, toilets are a much more serious problem."

"Has anyone reported a broken toilet yet?"

"No, sir."

"Then I suggest we cross that bridge when we come to it. You do have a tendency, you know Severus, to worry yourself into an ulcer over things that may never happen. Have you tried all the storerooms?"

"Not the ones in the collapsed area, sir. Do you think maybe someone else…"

"Look around you, Severus. Do you see anyone here as agile or slender as you? If Hogwarts were open, I would advertise for someone to fill the position of chief crawler through windows and relieve you of the duty, but alas, if Hogwarts were open we would not have the problem."

Snape sighed and left the Great Hall, having thoroughly lost whatever appetite he'd woken up with. Rounding up a crew of likely little people, he went back into the dungeon area where they began searching for and removing any supplies they could find. Up on ground level, Hagrid supervised a crew of larger students who couldn't make it through the windows, but who could carry things into the castle. One problem was that crates and barrels couldn't go through the windows either, so everything had to first be unloaded and then handed through separately.

In this way, Hogwarts soon found itself with an increased store of bed linens, towels, tableware, thestral harness, parchment, pens and ink, brooms (the sweeping kind), Latin dictionaries, perfume, boot laces, spindles, hair powder, axe blades and handles (assembly required), one thousand school robes that had gone out of style and been replaced with the latest fashion in 1350 and another thousand from 1661, six cases of firewhisky that went straight to Dumbledore for safekeeping, two crates of ladies' corsets, sponges (real ones), burlap bags, and finally – because when he found them, Snape stopped looking – six boxes of fine Castile soap, the bars carefully wrapped in oilcloth.

The soap went straight to the kitchen to be guarded under lock and key, for until they found more it would be hoarded. Everything else was negotiable, but not the soap. The kitchen, with its pots, pans, dishes, utensils, and cooking surfaces, would be kept clean regardless of what happened to anyone or anything else.

After all, wasn't that what perfume was for?

There followed a totally different series of lessons, all on the elementary level. They included: bed making, floor sweeping, picking clothing up off the floor and folding it, banking and rekindling fires, dusting, feeding owls and mucking out the owlery, the theory and practice of cat litter boxes, sewing buttons back on, reshelving library books, busing dirty dishes, washing bathroom fixtures, and the concept of not tracking mud all over the entrance hall when it rained. Not surprisingly, several teachers attended one or more of these classes.

Things got worse in December.

"Have you noticed that it is colder today, Severus?"

"Yes, Headmaster. It's snowing." Snape knew this because Romanovsky had gone out to enjoy the snow and had left the door ajar, lowering the interior temperature by another twenty degrees.

"I meant inside the castle."

"The snow affects that, too, sir."

Dumbledore thought about that for a moment. "We have fires, do we not?"

"Yes, sir. We also have thirty-foot ceilings, and the entrance hall goes up over fifty feet."

"I do not see how that…"

"Heat rises, sir."

"You mean it is all up there?" Dumbledore pointed in the general area of the roof.

"Yes, sir. And that's not the worst of it. We're running out of wood."

"We are right next to a forest. We can cut… Severus, can we get to the trees through the fog?"

"Some of them, sir. Most of them are beyond our reach."

"Then you shall have to…"

"Sir?"

"Yes, Severus?"

"Sir, you don't have to be small and skinny to cut down a tree."

"I suppose not. I shall ask Hagrid to supervise that task."

Hagrid's report was that there were nowhere near enough trees to supply the castle with wood for the winter. Serious planning was now in order. Snape put his foot down on one point and refused to budge. "No matter what else happens, the kitchens need wood to cook the food. They get supplied first." Negotiations then started on consolidating all kitchen activity into the smallest, the bakery, whose lower ceilings would also retain the heat better.

The dormitories were the next bone of contention.

"We cannot afford to have fires in all the rooms," Dumbledore told the assembled school as students and staff sat shivering in the Great Hall, every available piece of clothing on their backs. "We can't afford to have fires on all the floors. Everything must be moved down to the ground floor, and that includes student dormitories, teachers' quarters, and classrooms. Everything possible must be insulated so that no heat is lost."

"We don't have the space," Sprout pointed out. "There isn't room down here for four dormitories."

"We shall have to double up," replied Dumbledore.

"Not staff, too!" McGonagall exclaimed, trying not to look at Trelawney.

Dumbledore was very grave. "You could stay in your own rooms, Minerva, but it would have to be without either magic or a fire." McGonagall was silent.

"The area that would be easiest to heat properly is the Hufflepuff dormitories," Snape observed. "They're insulated by the hill itself, low-ceilings, smaller rooms. You could double up another house in the bedrooms themselves and use the common room as a large dormitory. I don't think there's room enough for all four houses, though."

"Pity we can't use the Great Hall," commented Kettleburn, "but we'd only be heating the rafters and not ourselves. I take it Slytherin remains in their classroom area."

"We'd still have to double up," replied Snape. "To reduce the number of fireplaces."

The move began that afternoon, with students hauling mattresses down the stairs from Gryffindor and Ravenclaw into Hufflepuff. The Hufflepuff students insisted that only Ravenclaw could share their bedrooms, so Gryffindor hung blankets as 'walls' and bunked down in the common room. The Slytherin rooms were reduced to four.

Female teachers were given the antechamber behind the Great Hall. Male teachers had the staff room. Filch had his office, where he scorned to keep a fire anyway, and Hagrid stayed in his hut.

In the antechamber, the women were nine: Professors McGonagall, Sprout, Vector, Sinistra, Trelawney, and Dawson, and Madams Hooch, Pince, and Pomfrey. There were fewer men in the staffroom, only six, since Filch and Hagrid had their own places, and Binns was a ghost. The men were Professors Dumbledore, Flitwick, Snape, Futhark, Kettleburn, and Romanovsky. There were only five mattresses.

"Where's yours, Severus?" Futhark asked. Futhark was sixty-two, smoked a pipe when he could find a way to light it, and looked like an ancient rune if you added a 'p' to the beginning of the word.

"In the dungeons, under a couple of tons of stone," Snape replied. "I've been sleeping on Dumbledore's sofa. You don't snore, do you?"

"Ouch," said Futhark, ignoring the question, the sympathy in his voice indicating he was familiar with Dumbledore's sofa. "Are you taking the sofa here, then?"

"Not if you're offering to take the sofa and give me your mattress. No? I suppose then that I'm on the sofa."

"It's only fitting, seeing how you're the y…"

"Yes. I know." Snape turned to Kettleburn. "You don't snore, do you?" he asked. Then Snape looked over at Dumbledore, who was standing at the rear of the staff room, his arms outstretched, holding a large sheet. "Can I help you with that, sir?"

"I was merely thinking of the need for mutual privacy, Severus. Items such as this, while not perfect, would help, do you not think? A pity that the hospital wing only had sufficient screens for the ladies."

"And it was very thoughtful of you not to take advantage of your rank, sir. By the way, do you snore?"

"I was outnumbered, Severus. Outnumbered. I cannot recall a time when every female teacher was on the same side of a question. It is hard to stand up to Minerva when she takes something to heart like that, but Minerva, Rolanda, Poppy, and Sibyll? With the others as backup? What would you have done?"

"Give them the screens. Are you planning to hang that sheet as a privacy screen, sir?"

"If I could use a wand, it would be easy…"

Snape sighed and went for the tools. Soon he was showing the others how to put hooks into the walls to hold the ropes that would hold the sheets. They used coat racks down the middle of the room to take up the slack and give more support to the sheets and ropes. By ten o'clock, they'd divided the room into six spaces, with Dumbledore in a long section next to the back wall, the middle divided in four, two on either side, and the spot by the door for Snape and his sofa.

All labor now done, Romanovsky pulled out a bottle of vodka, and began to pass around glasses. Everyone joined in, and they all were particularly nice to Snape, insisting that he relax and enjoy himself, and encouraging him to remember things, like the lyrics to 'Yellow Submarine' and 'When Irish Eyes Are Smiling.' Around midnight he was suddenly asleep, and never noticed whether anyone snored that night or not.

xxxxxxxxxx

Work in the library continued, a staggering task due to the unfathomable number of books they had to go through. Everything they looked at was tagged so as not to duplicate work. Hufflepuff started at one end of the library and methodically read its way through, book by book. Ravenclaw was working on a matrix that would eventually detail the entire plan of the construction of Hogwarts, feeding into it every scrap of pertinent information found by the other houses. Gryffindor tended to look through books with fancy covers and lots of pictures. Slytherin browsed the shelves for titles that appeared promising.

It was thus that young Winston Smith, prowling the limitless stacks on Christmas Eve, stumbled across a volume entitled, Memoires of ye Founders, folio, vellum, with a probable date of 1452. Two thirds of the way through the book, he found this paragraph:

_It is likewyse moste curious to note that thys moste worthy Lord of Slytherin dyd keep a memoir of those hys moste secret thoghts and of that whych dyd transpire with hym ye whyle he was at Hoguuarts. Ye greate part of these notyngs have here ben presented, there beying yet one that thys moste unworthy chronicl'r can in no wyse discover nor unfold, both the thyngge and ye sense of it being now lost, but ye whych i xall here give from ye Latyn: "And there dyd pass an day that ye Lord Godric and myself, beyng bothe upon the lake severally in ye pleasaunt pastyme of a-fishyng, that there dyd fall unto my boat, as it were from ye very sky, an thynge moste curious, that was an rounde thynge, or rather an thynge circular yet flat, that dyd have arounde its rim XII markyngs unbeknown to me. And yet more 'stounding still, it dyd bear III barbes, as it were needls, that dyd goe sunwyse round and round from markyng unto markyng wythout ceasing for nigh an year until at ye last they dyd stop and move no more. And thys marvel dyd happen in that year or ere ye skol dyd open." More i can in no wyse unravel, for nor ye thynge nor any pictyng of it are come down to us. Thus is yt an mysterie, thogh some say ye thynge rests yet in Hoguuarts._

"Well?" said Snape, confronting Dumbledore with the ancient tome in the staff room on Christmas Day.

"It does appear that an unusual object fell into Salazar Slytherin's boat while he was fishing," Dumbledore said calmly.

"Really? Listen carefully." And Snape read:

"_And there passed a day that Lord Godric and myself being both upon the lake severally in the pleasant pastime of fishing, that there fell into my boat, as it were from the very sky, a thing most curious, that was a round thing, or rather a thing circular yet flat, that had around its rim twelve markings unknown to me. And yet more astounding still, it bore three barbs, as it were needles, that went clockwise round and round from marking to marking without ceasing for nearly a year until at the last they stopped and moved no more. And this marvel happened in that year before the school opened."_

"Yes," Dumbledore said, "a most curious incident."

"Don't you understand…" Snape stopped, swallowed his frustration, and continued. "That's my pocket watch, sir. The three barbs are the hour, minute, and second hands that would have continued going around and around until the battery died."

"This is a possibility," said Dumbledore. "We do not know that it is, in fact, the case. He says he did not recognize the markings."

"Because in his day they still used Roman numerals. Arabic numbers don't come in until the sixteenth or seventeenth centuries. That's my pocket watch!"

"Which, if true, means it was swept into the vortex and from there fell into Salazar Slytherin's boat one thousand years ago."

"Can we use this for anything, sir?"

"I would prefer, before using time magic of any sort, to confirm that this was, indeed, your watch. The chronicler says it may still be in Hogwarts. Perhaps we could search."

"Where would Slytherin have put it, sir? Which were his rooms?"

"I always thought it was the Dark Arts rooms, though I may be wrong." Dumbledore looked at Snape, who stared back at him for a moment, then both men went looking for Professor Romanovsky.

"Is no good you go into my rooms for starry chassis," Romanovsky told them petulantly after they located him near the kitchen. "I am not having clutch."

Dumbledore looked at Snape in bewilderment.

"I'm not sure, sir," Snape said. "A chassis is part of a car and a clutch shifts gears, but it could just be Russian."

"Da, brat moy! This starry cello…" he was gesturing at Dumbledore now, but Snape interrupted him.

"Starry?"

"Da. He is stariy, you are molodoy. He has white hair, you have…"

"Old and young. Starry means old, Headmaster, like you." Snape ignored Dumbledore's expression. "Does chassis mean watch?"

"Da. You want old watch – stariye chasee. But I do not have clutch to open door."

"You would think that after four months at Hogwarts he would have learned the words for old and watch," said Dumbledore.

"Why?" Snape asked. "Wizards don't wear watches. It would never have come up. If a clutch opens a door, it could be a key."

"Da! That is word. Klyooch is key, but I am not having one to open door, and starry professor says I may not use magic."

"We shall have to find some other way to get in, then," Dumbledore stated. "Come, Severus."

As the two turned to leave Romanovsky, a thought came to Snape. "Wait a minute! If you don't have a key to get into your rooms, where do you get the vodka? I thought it was stored in your rooms."

"Oops!" said Romanovsky, and tried to push his way past them, but Dumbledore and Snape seized him by the arms and hustled him up to the second floor, to the Dark Arts office and private rooms.

The door was magically locked. "Did you not," Dumbledore asked with just the tiniest touch of menace in his voice, "hear me when I told you no magic in the castle?"

"I do not think this means professors! Only little weak, stupid English children. You have let elves use magic!"

"If I find that you are responsible for the destruction of the dungeons," Snape growled, and the menace in his voice was not tiny, " I'll personally feed you to the giant squid."

"So much you know. Squid will not eat so big thing."

"Don't worry. He'll get you in bite-sized pieces."

Romanovsky glanced from one to the other, but could not tell from their expressions whether Snape was serious or not.

"Open it," Dumbledore commanded.

"Am not supposed to use magic in castle," Romanovsky replied.

Snape's wand was out. "I don't think a stinging hex would upset too much," he cooed, "not with all the door opening you've been doing," and he place the tip of the wand next to Romanovsky's left ear. "Say, right into the ear canal?"

"I open door," Romanovsky said, and they held his wrists while he extracted his wand from his robes then, when the door swung open, Dumbledore took the wand away. "I will need that!" Romanovsky shouted.

"No you won't," Snape replied, and pushed him into the office.

It was a revelation. The office was in the southwest corner of the castle with windows facing the lake and the Quidditch pitch. Telescopes were set up along the windows, some with mirrors to keep track of every part of the south and west sides of the castle. There were cameras, too. The walls held Foe-Glasses, and the tables held Sneakoscopes, Secrecy Sensors, and other dark detectors.

They pushed Romanovsky into a chair and bound him, after which Dumbledore crossed the office to look at a bookcase full of notebooks. One held maps of Hogwarts, while there was a separate volume for each staff member. "Yours is quite detailed," Dumbledore said, tossing the book onto the desk where Snape could reach it.

There were copious notes in Russian, and photographs from many different angles, including several of Snape helping to build the raft, out on the lake with Kettleburn, and talking by the lake shore with the squid. Other photos were taken of Snape in the Potions classroom, the Great Hall, the kitchens, and even Snape's office and – bedroom? Snape gazed in horror at the shot of his private room with himself sleeping peacefully, curled on his right side facing away from the camera, one leg in its pearl-gray pajamas kicked out from under the blankets. On a later page there was another of the male teachers in the staff room, raising glasses of vodka after arranging their new sleeping quarters. Under it was a note in Russian that Snape could actually make out: 'Mnogo govorit i vsemu verit kogda pyan.' [He talks a lot and believes everything when drunk.] Well, at least he understood the 'talks a lot' and 'drunk' parts. The rest he could guess.

"I do not!" Snape yelped.

"I believe you do," said Dumbledore, looking over Snape's shoulder, "and I would have discussed it with you the year you started teaching, except that it happens so rarely."

Snape noticed that Dumbledore had the notebook about himself firmly tucked under his arm and assumed it would soon disappear into the Headmaster's office. "May I keep this?" he asked.

"Now Severus, they do need to stay together. As evidence, you know. Do not worry. They shall be securely locked away in my office where no one will be able to see them.

"That makes me feel so much better, sir," Snape replied.

"Now," Dumbledore sighed. "If I were Salazar Slytherin, where would I hide your watch?"

They ransacked every piece of furniture, under the assumption that a later professor may have found and moved the watch. They rapped and thumped every stick and board of wood in case there was a secret compartment. They in fact found quite a few secret compartments, mostly with compromising letters from long dead professors, mostly from the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. "That must have been a rowdy time," Dumbledore commented after they extracted the seventh one in half an hour.

The furniture done with, Dumbledore and Snape then began methodically checking the walls and floors of the two rooms. Snape was in the process of tapping the stones around the office windows when Dumbledore called from the bedroom. "Severus, I think I have something."

A loose stone was removed to reveal the wooden lid of a small box sunk into the floor. Whatever magic had once protected it had decayed over time to nothing. Most of what was inside were coins from the reigns of kings Edgar and Ethelred of England and the last four kings of the House of Alpin in Scotland, and some jewelry – rings and brooches for cloaks. There was a piece of parchment wrapped around something heavier, and Dumbledore took it out carefully and unwrapped it. It was Snape's pocket watch.

xxxxxxxxxx

The staff needed to consult. The first thing Dumbledore did was let them all look at the notebooks Romanovsky had made of them. This immediately put them all on the same side – Romanovsky excepted, of course – and gave them common cause.

"A camera in the staff bathroom," McGonagall huffed. "The man has no decency." A remark which made Snape exceedingly grateful that he had years earlier determined to bathe himself more modestly in his own rooms.

"Calm down, Minerva," exclaimed Kettleburn. "At least you use bubble bath!"

"Bubble bath!" Snape shrieked. "That's soap! I want it in the kitchens now! How much more soap is there up there that you've been withholding from me? Are there any other bathrooms?"

"Just the prefects' bathroom on the fifth floor," said Sprout.

The meeting adjourned at once as Snape drove them all to the staff and prefects' bathrooms for every case of soap and bubble bath they could find, then down to the kitchens to store it under lock and key.

"It's hardly fair to take every bit of a person's soap," complained Sinistra. "What's a person to wash her hair with?" – a comment that started Snape thinking about the other supplies.

Reunited in the Great Hall after lunch, bundled up and shivering, the teachers first discussed what to do with Romanovsky. He was clearly a spy for Durmstrang, and could not be trusted alone. Several of the teachers speculated on how much information about them might have gotten out had it not been for the barrier isolating the school from the outside world. Within an hour, it was decided to keep him in the antechamber where the first years waited before their sorting, with a rotating schedule of guards. He would be let out to eat and exercise, and he would be given plenty of blankets and heated bricks to help him stay warm at night. The room was small and low-ceilinged, and would stay warmer than most.

Then they began discussing the pocket watch and what it meant.

"It fell into the boat of Salazar Slytherin in the year before the school opened, at a time when he was fishing," Dumbledore explained. "That sounds as if we might have a time vortex in the middle of the lake that takes things back exactly one thousand years. Maybe even to the day. How can we use this knowledge to our advantage?"

"Could one of us go back and explain the situation to them?" asked Trelawney, nodding pointedly at Snape.

"I'm sure they would be ecstatic at meeting someone who could foresee the future," responded Snape, nodding equally pointedly at Trelawney.

"Maybe we could drop them a note," suggested Hagrid. When everyone stared at him, he shrugged. "It were a thought. I mean, we already dropped them a watch."

"Wait a minute!" Snape cried. "We could, couldn't we? We could throw a note into the vortex and tell them about our problem. Maybe they could change the protective spells, or at least tell us how to extend their time."

"How could we write to them?" Dawson observed. "It was a thousand years ago. They didn't speak English. They wouldn't understand what we wrote."

"What language did they speak?" asked Sprout.

"Anglo-Saxon," said Futhark and Snape together.

"Gaelic!" announced McGonagall firmly. "This is northern Scotland, I'll have you know!"

"Minerva," Snape tried to explain, "none of the Founders had a Gaelic name. Rowena, Godric, and Helga are all Germanic."

"I'll argue with you on Rowena," snapped McGonagall, "and Salazar is Spanish."

"I always thought," mused Futhark, "that it came from Salu-sar – Dark Sorrow – which would make it Anglo-Saxon."

All eyes turned to him. "You speak Anglo-Saxon, don't you?" asked McGonagall. "After all, you teach Ancient Runes!"

Futhark did not agree. "Anglo-Saxons used Latin letters, not Runes. I know what the Runes mean for magic purposes, but I don't speak Anglo-Saxon."

"Wait a minute," said Snape. "We don't need Anglo-Saxon. Salazar Slytherin wrote his journal in Latin."

"Do you know Latin, Severus?" Dumbledore asked, peering over his glasses.

"No. Well, not much. But it used to be taught here. After all, most of our spells are based on Latin. And we pulled all those Latin dictionaries out of the dungeons – we could use them."

Snape took several students up to the first floor classroom where they'd dumped most of the supplies from the dungeons, while Dumbledore started to compose the letter they would try to translate. Snape was fairly sure, from what he remembered, that they would need every dictionary, and flipping through one confirmed his memory. They were Latin-English dictionaries, not English-Latin. Searching for words would be time consuming.

After sending the students back downstairs with the books, Snape glanced around at the rest of the things they'd found in the dungeons. He smiled when he saw the tins he'd been looking for, several hundred of them. _Hair powder. It could help with at least one of the smells we have here._ The powder was tinted for different colors of hair, and lightly perfumed. Definitely something that could be useful.

"How old is it?" Sinistra asked when he showed her some for black hair.

"About two hundred years," Snape replied.

"What's in it? You never know. It could eat away our skin."

It was a good point, so Snape and Sinistra took the tin to Snape's makeshift classroom to analyze it. What he found was reassuring. "Starch," he told Sinistra. "Potato starch, rice powder, cornstarch_..._ The color is a vegetable dye. If it weren't for the perfume, you could eat it. It wouldn't give you much nutrition, but it wouldn't hurt you."

Now it was time for Sinistra to take charge since this was more her area of expertise, and they went to her office on the seventh floor. "We experiment on you," she told Snape. "Your hair is oilier than mine. I'd hate hair like yours. I've got a cousin with that kind of hair and she keeps it short and washes it twice a day, and it still looks awful."

As she talked, Sinistra wrapped a towel around Snape's shoulders to protect his clothing and put a large cloth on the floor to protect the floor. Wearing a kind of smock to shield herself, she made him kneel on a chair with his head leaning over the back. "If you ever tell the students I did this…" Snape began, but she shushed him.

"This is going to be messy," she said. "Powder always is. Luckily we don't want it to stay in your hair, or we'd need pomade."

"How do you know this?" Snape asked in wonder.

"Common knowledge," Sinistra replied. She took a fair amount of the powder and began to rub it thoroughly into his hair and scalp. After a couple of minutes, she took a brush and began to brush his hair from the back of the neck forward. The starch had absorbed almost all the oil, and much of both were brushed out onto the cloth. What remained was unnoticeable because of the dark tint.

Snape cautiously touched his hair. It was dry and even relatively soft. Then he realized that Sinistra was watching him speculatively.

"I wonder," she said, and dragged him over to a stand with a pitcher and a basin. Pushing his face into the basin, she ordered, "Don't move," and then poured cold water over his head. Ignoring his yelp of shock, she scrubbed his hair for a few seconds, which removed all the dark powder, after which Sinistra toweled Snape's hair almost dry. "Here," she said, handing him a comb. "If it works for you, it'll work for anybody."

"I am not," Snape said bitterly, "doing that every day."

"You may not have to, Severus dear. The chemicals in soaps irritate the oil glands and make them produce more oil. This way, you may find you have less of a problem." She was gathering up the cloths as she spoke and making the office tidy.

"How do you know?"

"Common knowledge."

The reaction to Snape's experiment when he went downstairs with Sinistra after his hair dried was – accusatory.

"I thought you said you were keeping the soap for the kitchen," remarked McGonagall as soon as she saw him in the entrance hall. "You just washed your hair."

"How come nobody notices it when I really do wash my hair?" Snape pouted. It was embarrassing that students were pausing to listen to the exchange, several girls especially.

"Don't lie. You're denying us soap, but you can wash your hair. And I must say I've never seen it looking nicer. Don't tell me that's our bubble bath?"

"It's nothing of the sort," proclaimed Sinistra proudly. "It's eighteenth century hair powder and a little cold water. And if anyone would like me to show them how to do it, I would be happy to oblige."

They lined up for the hair powder, boys as well as girls, and by supper time one aspect of being shut up together without heat and without soap had improved. It wasn't perfect, but it was better. And it gave the students the impulse to investigate creative ways to stay clean.

xxxxxxxxxx

The letter took some time to compose, none of them completely agreeing on what it should say. Snape would not allow the first three drafts because they contained anachronisms – lexical ("Try 'invisible barrier,' or 'unknown power.' 'Force field' won't be understood."), geographic ("They were calling it Alba then. Alba!"), and technological ("I think I can one hundred percent guarantee the camera was invented after 984.").

When finished, the letter read something like this:

_To the honorable Founders of the great School of Hogwarts._

_Greetings. The establishment which you are creating in your day has lasted for a thousand years protected by the strength of your magic. It has flourished, and grown, and become mighty. Now, however, we fear the end of your accomplishment, for the thousand years have passed and the protection is withdrawn. We are surrounded by an invisible barrier that we cannot escape. The dormitories beneath the lake are flooded, the dungeons collapsed, and we are not able to perform magic in the lower levels of the castle. We ask that you cast your spells for longer than a thousand years and tell us how to extend them so that this school will continue as a memorial to your greatness._

_Please place any response to this message in a concealed area under the great staircase in the entrance hall, so that it will not be discovered until we find it._

_Your grateful descendants thank you for your help._

_Albus Dumbledore, Head of the School_

xxxxxxxxx

"Explain to me again about the staircase, Severus," Dumbledore said over lunch the next day after the students had been set to search the Latin dictionaries for the necessary vocabulary.

Snape was deeply engrossed in whether he should refer to Hogwarts as a schola artium magicarum or a ludus magorum, and said simply, "Time paradox."

"Come again?"

"The response has to be in a place we haven't looked yet, otherwise we would have found it before we sent the original message and might thus never have sent the original message, meaning there would be nothing to respond to. That's why the staircase is being guarded. Nobody looks there until after we throw the message into the vortex."

"I suppose reading all those muggle books does come in handy from time to time."

"Yes, sir."

That afternoon, Snape put on several cloaks and slipped out into the cold winter world to check the ice on the lake. He wasn't happy with what he found. "The middle of the lake isn't frozen enough," he told Dumbledore.

"Could you drag the raft across the ice to the weak part?" Dumbledore asked.

"It's too heavy. It would break through the ice before we did, and might land us in freezing water. Hypothermia isn't a good way to die."

"I see. Does this mean we have to wait until spring?"

"I hope not. Do you have any idea, sir, how lucky we were that Salazar Slytherin happened to be on the lake in a boat the day my watch fell out of the sky? Otherwise it would be on the bottom of the lake. At least now we have some chance that in 984 the lake is frozen and the message will be seen on the surface. By the way, we need to make it lightweight and very colorful."

"Severus," Dumbledore mused, "the squid could swim out to the vortex…"

It was with great reluctance that Snape approached the edge of the channel into the boat grotto, Hooper beside him. There was no reason to suspect that the squid's attitude toward them had mellowed any since their last conversation. The squid arrived in a great turmoil of angry water.

"Tell him we need his help," Snape said to Hooper.

Hooper communicated the thought, then stepped hurriedly back. "He wants to know where his girlfriend is."

"Tell him we can't get his lady until we find a way through the barrier. The one who can do it is on the other side."

It was odd watching the boy stare into that enormous eye. After a moment Hooper straightened up. "He wants to know what he has to do."

"Ask him if he can throw something through the vortex in the middle of the lake."

Another moment of communication. "He doesn't understand the concept of 'throw.' When I picture him throwing something, he thinks I'm crazy. Squids don't throw."

"What can he do?"

Hooper grinned. "He could carry you out to the middle, and you could throw it."

_Oh, joy. There must be someone at Hogwarts better at throwing things than I am._

After Snape informed the rest of the staff of the squid's response, Flitwick proposed a test to see who was the most accurate at throwing things. Snape thought this an excellent idea, since all he had to do was miss a couple widely, and no one would think he was suited to the task. They set up a testing range at the Quidditch pitch, with a row of pine cones on the railing of one of the stands and a handful of small stones for each one demonstrating his skill. Or lack of it – Snape's first two didn't make it as far as the railing, and the third hit Dumbledore's hat.

It didn't work, mostly because of Hagrid.

"Ye're not fooling me, lad. I seen ya knock down a pine cone at twenty yards. I seen ya go for six in a row and not miss a one. Didn't ya tell me ya used t' snag birds and rabbits out on those moors of yers?" The trouble was, Hagrid said this loudly and in the presence of just about the whole school, minus a few slackers who were up with Madam Pomfrey getting cough syrup.

"You must be thinking of someone else," Snape retorted

"Let's see – long black hair, sharp black eyes, big nose, short, skinny, looks like he's lived under a rock all his life – nope, it weren't nobody else. Come on Robin Hood, show 'em what ya can really do. Smack that thing in the center of the target."

"I assure you that my talents are mediocre." Snape was determined to maintain his facade, though the group of sniggering Gryffindor boys on his left was making it harder to do than he'd thought it would be.

"Come to think of it," said Dumbledore, "I do seem to recall certain episodes involving ink bottles, Sirius Black's head, and the entire length of the east corridor on the fourth floor. No detectable magic, either."

"That's it, Severus!" yelled Kettleburn. "Put one right over the plate!"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Snape snapped.

"I don't know. I heard it somewhere."

"Now, now," interrupted Trelawney, "stop embarrassing the young man. You all know this is a job he can't do. It's cruel to tease him."

"I beg your pardon?" said Snape.

"My dear boy, from the first time I saw you outside that room in the Hogs Head, I knew there were some… physical things… that you were not capable of. It is nothing to be ashamed of, just a matter of coordination."

"There's nothing wrong with my coordination!"

"Well of course not, dear boy. Not when it comes to things like walking or eating soup with a spoon. But honestly, have we ever seen you dancing? And I have noted the way you clutch a quill when you write…"

"I don't clutch quills!"

"Why ever do you think your handwriting is so illegible? No, the inner eye can tell, and the inner eye sees that when it comes to anything involving coordination, grace, or athletic ability…"

Six stones in rapid succession knocked six pine cones off the railing. The seventh sent the weather vane at the top of the Gryffindor stands spinning, and the eighth took out the eagle's eye in the Ravenclaw banner. In the awed silence, Snape turned towards Trelawney, gently tossing the ninth up and down in his hand.

It was McGonagall who broke the stillness. "Why Sibyll," she cooed, laying her hand on Trelawney's arm, "I apologize. I have seriously misjudged you."

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_Monday, December 31, 1984_

There was a carnival atmosphere at breakfast on the last day of the year. The letter was translated and transcribed. It resided, rolled up like a scroll, in a little leather vial decorated with red, blue, yellow, and green ribbons. Snape had tried throwing it, and had had to add extra weight to counteract the drag of the ribbons, but was now accurate at fifteen yards. Just to be sure, however, they had other leather vials with other scrolls and other ribbons waiting. They figured Snape had to make it with at least one of them, since that was the only way he'd be allowed back on the ice. Dumbledore had made certain that Hooper communicated this to the squid.

Snape didn't eat breakfast. It was not nerves, he told himself. He just didn't want to be any heavier for the squid to pick up. "Now you make sure that it goes around the waist and doesn't interfere with my arms," he told Hooper for the twentieth time. "And make sure it doesn't squeeze too hard."

They had to wait until the sun was well up, so it wasn't until midmorning that the school traipsed down to the water's edge to watch the show.

As Snape walked down to the lake shore, there was a subtle change of mood. Kettleburn started it by coming forward from the crowd to silently shake Snape's hand. Flitwick did the same, dabbing at his nose with a handkerchief. When Sprout patted him on the back and McGonagall laid a hand on his shoulder, Snape began to get suspicious, an attitude not helped by Tonks running out from behind two Hufflepuffs to fling her arms, wailing, around his waist (that being as high as she could reach). She was assisted back into the crowd by the Weasley brothers.

Hooper walked a pace behind Snape. "Kind of puts a lump in your throat, doesn't it, sir?" he said, with no trace of sorrow whatsoever in his voice. "All that outpouring of emotion, I mean."

Snape turned while walking and whispered, "Are you telling me they all expect me to die?"

"Wouldn't you? Now be honest, sir."

"I suppose if it was someone else less… You did talk to that squid, didn't you? He loses me and he loses the lady."

"I did. At great length and in great detail. He knows that a large number of things can kill you – squeezing too hard, being under water too long, getting too cold, losing your skin…"

"Losing my what?"

"Skin, sir. Actually it's your clothing, but I was looking out for your dignity."

"Thank you very much, Hooper. I appreciate the thought."

Dumbledore was waiting at the edge of the lake and gave Hooper a bag containing the extra messages in case the first one didn't get through. "Well, Severus," he said gravely. "This is it. Is there anyone you want notified?"

"I'm not going to die, sir."

"No, of course not. None of us thinks that. Still, it is best to be prepared."

"In that case, yes. The British Horticultural Society."

"Are you a member?"

"Drat! I forgot to join. Can you wait a couple of weeks while I send in the application?"

"Good try, Severus. And good luck."

Snape and Dumbledore shook hands, and then Snape started across the ice with Hooper beside him. Out in the middle of the lake, the squid rose in might and grandeur from the depths, chopping away at the thinner ice with its tentacles so that it could approach close to the thicker, safer ice. On the shore the students gasped.

Hooper approached first, to review with the squid what had to be done. Snape suggested that they first practice lifting him up and putting him down. This turned out to be an excellent idea, since the cloak and robe Snape was wearing didn't give the squid a firm enough grip. As soon as it wrapped one of its tentacles around him and hoisted him up, the cloak slipped up towards Snape's head, and the tentacle was under his armpits.

"Put me down!" Snape cried, and after a moment's consultation with Hooper, the squid did so.

"He wants to know why your skin is so loose. Are you about to shed?"

It was, all things considered, a relatively accurate image. "Tell it yes, I have to shed my outer skin." Snape removed his cloak and his robe, standing now in tight-fitting frock coat and trousers. Almost immediately, he began to shiver with the cold.

"Don't you want to take your shoes off, sir?" Hooper asked.

"Why would I want to do that?"

"If it drops you, you may have to swim. It'd be easier to do without shoes."

"Look, Hooper, first of all I can't swim. Second, if it drops me in that water, every muscle I own is going to seize up and I'll drop to the bottom like a stone anyway. Third, nervous as I am, if I take off my shoes my feet will freeze to the ice and he'll have to rip my soles off to get me to the vortex, so NO, I am NOT taking my shoes off."

"Suit yourself," said Hooper.

The frock coat still did not give enough purchase, but Snape was not about to shed any more skin in that cold and in front of the whole school. Instead, the squid slipped its tentacle under coat and shirt, gripped with its freezing cold suckers around Snape's waist, and lifted him once more into the air.

Holding the message in his right hand, Snape let himself be carried to within ten yards of the vortex. The part of his brain that was panicking kept telling him to kick free of the squid. The part that couldn't swim kept saying, 'no – the squid is your friend.' Snape was having trouble breathing, but he rather suspected it wasn't the squid's fault. It was more likely hyperventilation.

Taking a deep breath, or at least as deep a one as he was capable of at that moment, Snape drew his arm back, then stopped. The squid wasn't letting him twist his body, a movement he needed to throw far enough and accurately enough. _How do I tell a squid what to do?_ Carefully and gently, Snape tapped the squid's tentacle, then began doing slight twisting motions until he was fairly sure the squid would move with his body movements. Then, taking another deep breath, he drew his arm back and threw the message sidearm, just the way Lily had taught him to skip stones.

The leather vial with its bright ribbons sailed through the intervening air, hit the vortex dead center, and disappeared. The lake shore erupted in cheers.

The squid, sensing from its conversations with Hooper that this was the desired outcome, swam quickly back to the ice, deposited Snape there, and sank swiftly into the water, its task completed.

Snape immediately collapsed on the ice and refused to move.

Hagrid couldn't go out onto the ice, but others could, Dumbledore and Kettleburn being the first to arrive while the three heads of houses struggled to keep the students safe on shore.

"Severus? Severus, are you all right?" Dumbledore exclaimed anxiously. "Severus?"

The only movement was Snape's head shaking in an automatic but emphatic negative. "Never… again…" he gasped. "I will… never… do that… again."

"Of course not, Severus. We shall never ask you. Can you stand? Here, Max, get on his other side and help him up. We need to get him into the castle at once. If you would bring his things, Hooper."

As soon as they got Snape to the shore, Hagrid took over. Snape refused to let himself be carried, but the groundskeeper flung his own coat, warm with his body heat, around Snape's shoulders and supported him up the hill and into the castle, where they took him at once to the fire in the kitchen and the ministrations of Madam Pomfrey. Students crowded close for a glimpse and were with difficulty shooed from the vicinity.

"Merlin," they told each other in tight groups in the entrance hall once rumor got going, "sucker marks that big around his waist. That's got to 've hurt!" Tonks was given a calming draught to help her rest.

"Well?" Snape demanded once he was warm enough and had stopped shaking enough to get the words out clearly, "did it work?"

"We do not know yet, Severus," said Dumbledore. "We have to give them time to…"

"Time!" Snape shrieked. "They've had a thousand years of time! As soon as that thing went through the vortex we should've gotten something in the stairs! Haven't you looked?"

McGonagall and Kettleburn went racing for the stairs and returned a moment later, panting and flushed with triumph. McGonagall was holding a little parchment scroll wrapped in linen. Dumbledore took it from her and gently unwrapped it. Then he paused.

"What's wrong, Professor?" Hagrid asked.

"It is written in Latin. We once again require the assistance of the students."

That was easily gotten, for by now the entire school was throbbing with excitement. First the vocabulary, then the grammar, and soon they had an approximate translation which was read to the assembled school:

_To Albus Dumbledore, Head of the School of Magical Arts_

_Greetings. It pains us to learn of your difficulties, though this knowledge is tempered by the great delight of learning that this school has endured for a thousand years as we hoped. We regret that we could not prevent the flooding of the area under the lake, nor the collapse of the dungeons, for those spells were already cast before we were favored with your message. We will extend the rest by ten years, that you may have leisure to reinforce them. If all has gone well, magic in the upper levels of the edifice should not cause harm._

_We know naught of this barrier of which you speak. Nor did you say if the service contract has run out, though we suspect it has, since it already existed before your message came. We have notified the Council of Wizards who will leave word, to be opened on New Year's day a thousand years hence, of your predicament._

_There are enclosed a series of spells that will reverse the damage you have suffered and renew the protection that the lapsed spells once gave. WARNING: It is most important that these spells not be performed during the same year in which the previous spells expired. You must wait until the New Year! They may be performed at any time after the new year has begun, but if cast prematurely, they will have no efficacy, and may not be cast a second time. Our work will have been in vain._

_With best wishes for the continued success of the School of Magical Arts,_

_Most respectfully,_

_Godric Gryffindor_

_Helga Hufflepuff_

_Rowena Ravenclaw_

_Salazar Slytherin_

xxxxxxxxxx


	7. Chapter 7 – 1984 – 1985 4

**Severus Snape: The Middle Years – The Fourth Year, 1984-1985 (4)**

"This is most excellent news!" exclaimed Dumbledore. "Our heartiest thanks to Professor Snape and to the Giant Squid!"

"And tomorrow is New Year's Day!" Sprout shouted. "It's almost over!"

"Well now," said Professor Futhark hesitantly. "That may be and then again it may not. We may have another time problem."

Very few heard him, but luckily Snape and Kettleburn were two of them. As Kettleburn shouted for silence amid the rejoicing, Snape tried to get Futhark to elaborate. "What do you mean, another time problem? What kind of time problem?"

"More a dating problem than anything," Futhark responded. "It's just that before 1753, January first was not New Year's Day in Britain."

"Ah, yes," sighed Dumbledore. "Even when I was a boy, many years after the change, there were a few who still celebrated the twenty-fifth of March. I am rather afraid that it is important. The timeframe for spells is that in which the spell was cast, not the timeframe that develops subsequently. If March twenty-fifth was New Year's Day then, we must consider it to be New Year's Day now."

"Weren't there times when it was December twenty-fifth, and the New Year has already come?" Snape asked, though his tone showed he knew he was grasping at straws.

"If that were true," Dumbledore replied, "then they would not have been at such pains to warn us to be patient, and the Ministry would already be breaking through the fog. I fear we shall have to wait."

The shock brought a new feeling of glumness to the castle, a glumness that was immeasurably relieved when everyone realized they might now return to their various rooms and dormitories since they were now theoretically able to use magic to kindle fires and keep things clean. Dumbledore, however, insisted on caution, and forbade a change in the new routine until after he and the staff had a chance to investigate.

Still, good news, however short it fell of perfect news, was still good news, and the school was able to celebrate the New Year with a renewal of good spirits and hope.

xxxxxxxxxx

"Why not?" Snape demanded, his patience, thin for months now, rubbed entirely raw by what he saw as injustice. "Why can't we transfer Slytherin and Hufflepuff to the upper floors. It can't be that much extra work now that we can move things with magic again."

This time Sprout was on his side, and shoulder to shoulder she faced down both Dumbledore and McGonagall with him. "It's a simple issue of fairness," she said. "The students in the towers can use magic to tidy up and to entertain themselves as well as practice their assignments in their own dormitories and common room. The students below the first floor are still in a no-magic zone. Just let us move upstairs."

"Where would they move to?" said McGonagall. "The seventh floor does not have the proper space, and is in any case too close to Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. The teachers are housed on the sixth and will not want to be near so many students. The fourth is taken up mostly by the library, the first by the hospital wing, and the fifth, third, and second have no…"

"Why not scatter the teachers in various parts of the other floors and turn six into dormitories for both Slytherin and Hufflepuff?" Snape asked.

"Slytherin and Hufflepuff together?" Dumbledore mused. "It would be difficult to keep the mutual insults down, would it not? Blood status here, and work habits there. It might even be amusing."

"I am sure, Headmaster," McGonagall sniffed, "that the staff would not take kindly to having to move yet another time."

"There was," said Snape acerbically, "a great American president who, while general of his country's armies, refused to enjoy the amenities of his rank until he was certain his soldiers had been adequately billeted. I've always admired that in a leader."

"Do you have a point, Severus?" Dumbledore asked, "Because if not…"

"I am shocked, sir, shocked that the Headmaster and Deputy Headmistress of a fine school like Hogwarts can ignore the pitiful plight of students over whom they have authority and for whom they have responsibility. And all because two teachers don't want to levitate a couple of items down a flight of stairs."

"I think there are more than two…" began McGonagall.

"Three then. And have you even asked them? Maybe you're just assuming they'll have objections and you'll find they don't. 'Blessed are they who give up their rooms to the needy, for they shall be well housed.'"

"You made that up!" McGonagall looked helplessly at Dumbledore, who merely shrugged. "Go ahead," she said to Snape and Sprout. "Move the students to the sixth floor."

xxxxxxxxxx

_January 18, 1985_

It was mid January, and the end of another week. Snape was putting his classroom into order at the end of the school day, and glanced up to see Paul Hooper standing in the doorway.

"I presume there's something you'd like me to do for you," Snape said somewhat ungraciously, as he was tired.

"Ask not what you can do for me," said Hooper. "Ask rather what I can do for you. I've come to give you the opportunity to make a counter offer."

That got Snape's attention, though he tried not to show it too much. "Really? Someone's made you an offer? What for?"

"My services. Specifically to talk to the squid. About getting out of here."

"Let me guess. Romanovsky. Why does he think the squid can help, and how much is he offering you? Oh, and how did he manage to talk to you anyway? Isn't he under guard all the time?"

"Your guards are getting lax. He wrote a message, put it inside a snowball, and threw the snowball at me. There was a rock in the first one, too, to make me examine it. We've exchanged a few snowballs in the last couple of days. He thinks the barrier doesn't extend all the way to the bottom of the lake, or that there may be underwater caverns. The squid perfume will be gone soon, and the squid won't have any more reason to hang around if it knows there's a way out. He's offering to take me with him as well as a full scholarship at Durmstrang and a guaranteed professorship in Care of Magical Creatures after I graduate."

"And knowing of your lifelong dream to attend Durmstrang and teach, I can only assume you accepted his offer with great alacrity."

"Nah. I told him I'd think about it. What's your offer?"

"I can cancel your detention."

"I'm not on detention."

"Yes you are." Snape paused to think. "For throwing snowballs at a professor."

"But he isn't a professor here anymore," Hooper protested. "He's been – what d' you call it – disbarred, or defrocked."

"Ungowned… disrobed… whatever. Well then, you're on detention for communicating with a disbarred, defrocked, former professor who's under house arrest."

"No good," said Hooper with a smirk. "Detentions are a dime a dozen. I do them blindfolded. I guess I'm going with Romanovsky. At least he doesn't treat me like I was a gloop or something."

"A gloop?"

"Yeah. You know, stupid. He's always telling us we're gloopy or slobby, or something like that. It means stupid and weak. So lots of the guys have picked up some Russian from him. Are you going to make an offer?"

"No. I think I'll just let you go off and be a professor at Durmstrang."

"That's it?"

"That's it."

Hooper turned and left, but he didn't look too happy about it.

Snape went straight to Dumbledore. "Romanovsky has managed to communicate with some of the students by throwing snowballs at them," he said without preamble.

"Ah, yes," said Dumbledore, "there is a certain level of physicality that will get through to teenagers much more quickly than simply speaking to them will."

Recognizing his mistake, Snape explained about the snow, the rocks, and the messages. Also about the hypothesis regarding the squid and the first of February.

"Do you think it is possible that the squid may know of a way out?" Dumbledore asked.

"In a situation that is utterly unique, sir," Snape replied, "anything is possible. But I do not think we'll be able to get the squid to check until after the pheromones have ceased to affect him."

That seemed fairly easy, as the six months would be up in a little over two weeks.

On Sunday, Snape caught Hooper at a late breakfast and sat down next to him at the Slytherin table, causing a minor exodus from that end. "I've come to make you another offer," he said.

"I hope it's better than the last one," said Hooper. "The last one was a joke." They were speaking quietly which, since no one was near, meant they were not overheard. Since the Great Hall was still a no-magic zone, there could be no listening spells.

"It turns out that I am curious to see if the squid remembers that Romanovsky is the one holding the female squid captive in our little coral reef."

Hooper grinned. "We're not looking at negligence resulting in involuntary homicide, are we Professor, because I'd rather not. But if it's just a little scare…"

"Right. Just a little scare."

"So what's the offer?"

"What offer?"

"I mean, what do I get for pulling it off? You did say you had a better offer."

Snape assumed his best 'shocked' expression. "Here I am giving you the opportunity to play the year's greatest practical joke on Romanovsky, and you want more? All you deserve is a teaching job at Durmstrang, and it will serve you right." He rose to go.

"You're serious!" Hooper cried. "You really expect me to help you out for nothing!" Students close by turned to stare at the two, but a glare from Snape sent them scurrying.

"I am giving you, you ungrateful little imp, the value of my precious experience. Do you know the mirror in the third floor boys' bathroom that even today shows you only a view of your nostrils?"

"You did that?" There was a note of awe in Hooper's voice. "But… nobody can reverse it!"

"I can," said Snape, "but if I did I'd have to admit that I was the one who did it in the first place, and I don't want to do that until Max Kettleburn retires."

"Why not?" Hooper asked.

"Let's say there's a bet involved, and certain members of the staff I want to keep happy. Now I was going to show you how to plan something a lot more complex than sticking a goat in a greenhouse, but you have to spoil it by getting greedy."

"But don't you need me for your plan?"

Snape gazed at Hooper with a mixture of pity and impatience. "What makes you think I need this plan at all? I can just see that there's a tighter guard on Romanovsky, and he and you do nothing, with the result that you get nothing. It's the only game in town, and I call the shots. Take it or leave it." Snape left Hooper to his ruminations and went upstairs to his temporary office.

By mid afternoon Hooper was knocking on Snape's door. "What do you want me to do?" he asked.

Snape leaned back in his seat. "That's not the way to do it," he said, touching his fingertips together in the best Dumbledore style. "If you don't know what your goal is, you're planning in the dark."

"So what's your goal?"

"You try."

"You want to stop Romanovsky from escaping."

"I could do that without the squid or you. Try again."

Hooper furrowed his brow. "You must want to catch Romanovsky doing something while he's escaping, but… Maybe he'll try to take something with him, and you want to get what he's taking!"

"Hooper, there's hope for you yet. We know Romanovsky's been spying on the school and the teachers. Don't look so surprised. Even if you are surprised, don't look it. It makes you look stupid. To continue, if things were normal, he might have returned to Durmstrang with a very large amount of mostly trivial information. Even now, looking at what he's collected, it's hard to see what Durmstrang thinks is most important. But if he has to leave suddenly and unencumbered, he'll have to choose the most important things to take with him and leave the less important behind. When we know what those are, we'll know what Durmstrang is trying to get from us."

Hooper's eyes gleamed. "What do I do first?" he asked.

"See if you can get the squid to check the barrier again. If the pheromones are wearing off, he might be more attentive than he could have been before. See if there really is a way out of here."

The squid was surprisingly cooperative. He not only remembered Hooper's earlier images of Romanovsky as the keeper of the female, he was aware of Romanovsky's frequent presence on the top of the cliff looking down, thanks to the almost human vision of his enormous eye. In addition, the squid was receptive to the suggestion of patrolling the center of the lake to see if there was any way through the barrier. Snape was beginning to be almost reconciled to his position as a scuttling little crab in the immense creature's world view.

The news the squid brought back was not good, for the barrier extended to the bottom of the lake, cutting through a deserted mer-village, and there was no way around it. Snape conferred with Dumbledore, and they decided Romanovsky didn't need to know that.

"I told him," Hooper reported on Tuesday the twenty-ninth. "He thinks there's a cave that goes around the barrier. I also told him the squid thinks the female's gone now, so he thinks maybe the potion's worn off enough to get the squid to leave."

"Excellent," said Snape, rubbing his hands together. "What does he want you to tell the squid about carrying him?"

"The squid's supposed to think they're going after the female. I'm supposed to promise him that Romanovsky 'll bring the female to him if they manage to get out."

"The rest is easy. We'll have a signal arranged so that when Romanovsky tells you he wants to go, you let me know, and we'll apprehend him with whatever he's carrying to Durmstrang before he even gets near the squid."

"He doesn't want me to know," Hooper said.

"What do you mean?"

"I'm supposed to prep the squid to carry him, but then he's going to choose the time to leave. He doesn't want me to know when that is because he doesn't trust me."

"That complicates things." Snape thought for a while, leaning back in the chair at his desk, nibbling at his thumbnail. "Is this too complex for the squid?" he said at last. "Tell it the female has escaped, but Romanovsky wants to pursue and capture her again. He wants to go through the vortex. If this happens, the female will be a prisoner, and the squid will never see her. But if it can scare Romanovsky, then we can make him tell us where the female's gone, and we can get her and bring her back after the barrier disappears. But it can't hurt Romanovsky, or we learn nothing. We'll probably hear when it happens, since there's bound to be a lot of yelling and thrashing about in the water. We can relieve Romanovsky of whatever he's carrying when the squid brings him back to shore. Is that communicable?"

"I think so. I can try," Hooper said. He went off to talk to the squid. Snape went down to lunch.

Romanovsky attempted his escape about two hours before sunrise the next morning. Two hours before sunrise on the next to last day in January at that latitude was shortly after six in the morning. Snape was alerted by the shrill screaming that wafted up from the water. He was, of course, already awake and dressed, and he raced downstairs, out the castle, and down the cliff face.

The center of the lake was in a turmoil, serpentine arms broiling the water and Romanovsky held up by the two great tentacles and heading straight for the vortex.

"Put me down, you great dyavol! I roast you for supper! I make tempura of your rooki! I… Bozhe moy! PUT ME DOWN!"

"Not the vortex!" Snape started screaming in almost the exact tone of panic that Romanovsky was using. "For Merlin's sake, not the vortex! Hooper! Get your rear end down here and tell it NOT THE VORTEX!"

The squid, however, was not as dumb as being second cousin to a garden snail would have one believe. Snape started screaming, "Squid! Squid!" and it actually turned around and swam back to shore with the hysterical Romanovsky still in its grasp. Sliding up part of the way to the lake shore, with just enough water under it to give it some buoyancy, the squid gently laid Romanovsky at Snape's feet. By this time Hooper, Hagrid, McGonagall, Flitwick, Kettleburn, a seldom noticed but ever-present Tonks, and Dumbledore himself were there behind Snape, watching.

"My goodness, Semyon," said Snape, trying to control his breathing and the timbre of his voice and failing miserably. "Whatever were you doing playing with the squid? That could be dangerous, you know."

"Get me out of water now, please. Just out of water," Romanovsky gasped, and Kettleburn obliged. A cursory search revealed a bundle of papers, wrapped in oilcloth against water damage. Kettleburn found them in Romanovsky's waistcoat and handed them to Dumbledore.

"Ladies, gentlemen," said Dumbledore genially. "Shall we reconvene in my office please?" and he led the way back up into the castle and up the stairs to the seventh floor.

Romanovsky vilified Snape every step of the way. "Traitor!" he screamed. "Obmanshchik! Vosh! Liar! Kusok navozy! You are rat! You are snake! You are…"

"That," commented Kettleburn with open admiration, "does not sound one bit complimentary. Do you have any idea what he's saying?"

"Chort!" Romanovsky bellowed.

"I got the traitor, liar, rat, and snake part," Snape said, busily jotting down as many words as he could. "And as soon as we can get out of here, I'm getting a Russian-English dictionary. I'll let you know how angry I am after I find out what he called me. I think chort means devil."

The bundle of papers contained a small book stolen from the Hogwarts library. It was a short monograph by Pangloss the Posthumous on the nature of invisible barriers, with a few examples to illustrate points. The corner of one page was bent down at a point where a barrier was mentioned that would filter unpleasant news.

"Did you actually perform this one?" Dumbledore asked mildly.

Romanovsky folded his arms on his chest and refused to talk.

"Can Hagrid sit on him?" Snape asked. "I've been looking forward to seeing that."

"Oh my!" exclaimed Flitwick, peering past Dumbledore's elbow and perusing the charm. "That seems rather odd. I wonder if it's a misprint. Obnubilo instead of adnuntiatio, I mean."

"I agree, Filius," Dumbledore said. "That would explain the fog." He looked up at Romanovsky. "Did you perform this spell immediately after the students arrived?" There was still no answer, but as Romanovsky was staring defiantly at Dumbledore, there didn't really have to be. "I thought so," Dumbledore muttered.

"Do you understand what happened, Albus?" McGonagall asked.

"I believe so," Dumbledore replied. "If this spell was cast just as the first of the Founders' protective spells, the one around the perimeter, went down, it might very well have the effect that we see around us today."

"Even the time vortex?" Snape asked.

"Well, no. I am still at a loss to explain that," said Dumbledore, "but the impenetrable fog, certainly."

"Perhaps the time vortex is connected to the Founders' spells," Flitwick suggested. "A sort of automatic reconnection to the originators when the system began to go down."

Dumbledore nodded. He was leafing through the rest of the papers with some interest. "It would appear that Durmstrang is fascinated by our shielding and disguising spells. I wonder if they worry that ours are better than theirs. They always have been obsessed with secrecy. You would not be inclined to elucidate, would you?" This last sentence was directed at Romanovsky.

"I say nothing. I have right not to speak against myself."

"Do you?" said Dumbledore brightly. "I was not aware of that."

"It's an American thing, Headmaster," Snape offered. "It's called 'taking the fifth,' though I'm not exactly certain why."

"It is rather irritating to be constantly mistaken for Americans," Dumbledore added. "It might make one somewhat less than sympathetic to your predicament. You ought to try to avoid doing it, you know."

"Albus," McGonagall said, "if the barrier is a spell gone wrong because of the effect of the deteriorating spells around it…"

"And the possibility of a misprint; do not forget that, Minerva."

"Oh, that's right. I was just hoping that when we restore the Founders' spells, the barrier will go away at the same time."

"It is a possibility. I would not count on it, but it is a possibility."

"So," said Hagrid with a grin. "In the meantime, what do we do about the Russky?"

The 'Russky' was once again incarcerated in the 'no magic zone,' this time with an around-the-clock guard of professors and prefects, with backup in case of trouble. Hagrid, his normal late winter and early spring duties severely curtailed as a result of the barrier that it now appeared Romanovsky had been responsible for, was in charge of the prisoner. Hagrid seemed to enjoy this duty immensely, spending long hours trying to engage Romanovsky in conversation about the north and its unique inhabitants, especially creatures like giants. It was suspected that Romanovsky did not share Hagrid's enthusiasm.

Other problems developed as January eased into February. The close proximity of all four houses in the top two floors of the castle was having predictable effects. Three Gryffindor boys were put on scullery duty for a week after being caught devising a way to spy on the Slytherin girls' dormitories. Ravenclaw began a low scale war of attrition against Hufflepuff the moment they realized that their long-treasured shortcut to the library was now blocked by the Hufflepuff common room. Hufflepuff sent a barrage of complaints to McGonagall about the appalling number of rowdy Gryffindors breaking curfew and running up and down stairs while the Hufflepuffs were trying to do their homework, and Slytherin…

Slytherin, finally released after four months of being penned in a poorly shielded corridor, finally able to use its wands, reminded hourly of its poverty of possessions by the mere presence, not to mention the taunts, of the denizens of the seventh floor towers – Slytherin went crazy. Flashing neon vulgarities appeared in stairwells, unidentifiable ooze slathered the third step down from the seventh floor on the Ravenclaw side. Glue sprinkled one morning on sleepy Gryffindors on their way to breakfast, followed immediately by a couple of bushels of confetti.

Snape, the sudden and simultaneous target of McGonagall, Flitwick, and Sprout, found himself hard-pressed to maintain discipline since, while Gryffindor honored the legend of the hex wars of the seventies, Slytherin held one of it perpetrators – and knew it.

As Richie Gamp put it, called into Snape's makeshift office on charges of hexing eyebrows, "Gee, Professor, I really wanted to jinx the mirror to make him go cross-eyed, but since you refused to teach me that one…"

Then there was the great Gryffindor soap scam. It started after the aforementioned trio was put on detention for spying and returned to Gryffindor tower with clean hands and arms. Now, there is clean and there is clean, and while hair powder, plain water, and magic can reduce the worst of the problem of too many active bodies all living in cramped quarters, the stronger cleansing spells were never meant for human skin, and the milder ones were of short duration. The Gryffindor girls, especially, were intrigued by the advantages resulting from disobedience.

It wasn't so much the increase in the number of hexes coming from Gryffindor, or the randomness of their targets, it was the sudden puzzling upsurge of penitence and remorse following the attacks that confused the staff.

Snape found himself breaking up a three-on-one assault near the prefects' bathroom on the fifth floor early one morning, and after he'd sent a sobbing Hufflepuff girl off to Pomfrey to have her nose fixed, he confronted the guilty Gryffindors who made no attempt to escape or excuse their actions.

"We were wrong, Professor," said Candida Oglethorpe. "What we did was inexcusable, and we deserve to be punished." The others nodded emphatically.

"What if you just promise never to do it again?" Snape asked, wondering why the little bells in his head would not stop ringing.

"Oh no!" exclaimed Sarah Peabody. "You have to put us on detention. That's the only way you can teach us our lesson."

Then to top it off, after Snape ordered the three down to the scullery, they bustled away looking for all the world like girls excited about getting ready for an important date. Which, in fact, they were, it being the fourteenth of February.

"Have you noticed an increase in Gryffindor detentions lately?" Snape asked McGonagall at breakfast a few minutes later.

"Have I!" was McGonagall's emphatic response. "Fifteen last night. You must have a kitchen so clean you could eat off the floor."

Snape looked at the Gryffindor table, where students were gradually filling up the benches. Students with soft, shiny hair, students with bright glowing faces, students with neat – no, immaculate robes. Dumbledore rose then to wish the student body a happy Valentine's Day, and it all clicked into place.

"SOAP!" Snape screeched, and was up and speeding for the scullery where he arrived to find Sarah washing Candida's hair, and Permilla Abbleby rinsing out underwear in a soup pot. Livid with rage, Snape shrieked, "Out! Out the lot of you!" picking up a dish towel (the only thing near to hand) and snapping it with deadly effect as he drove the three from his domain.

When Dumbledore arrived a few minutes later, Snape had already checked the depleted soap supplies. "Ptomaine poisoning!" he yelled at the Headmaster and the staff members crowding behind. "It'll serve them right, all of them, to get ptomaine poisoning and die!"

"Now, now," soothed Dumbledore. "Do you not think you are overreacting just a little?"

What remained of the soap was removed from the kitchen and hauled by the members of Gryffindor house up to Snape's office where every bar, box, and bottle was guarded, to be parceled out only at need and only for the use of the kitchen and hospital wing. The collective comments of the Gryffindor students reminded Snape of Romanovsky's, except they focused on his personal habits and hygiene, and were in English. He didn't mind. He had the soap.

The last major series of pranks began on Thursday, the last day of February. This time the alarm was sounded by Flitwick. "Have you noticed a change in some of the pictures?" he asked casually at breakfast that morning. "They seem, well, altered."

Snape decided to check on the report before his first class of the morning, and found that Flitwick had not exaggerated. A sweet blonde witch of the twenties, normally in powder blue robes, was now attired in a hideous combination of mauve and pumpkin orange. The dog in a hunting scene from the eighteenth century was whimpering and scratching, having acquired a case of mange. The Gryffindor Fat Lady was sporting a huge mole over her left eyebrow that she was, as yet, blissfully unaware of. Snape suspected, given the nature of Gryffindor students, that her ignorance would be short-lived.

Everywhere he went, Snape saw subtle change, and it was never for the better. Ornate carvings of flowers and leaves were now withered and old, though still made of stone. Wood paneling that had been rich and glowing was weathered and scratched. Colored glass was cracked and marred. The school was becoming ugly. The teachers were at a loss as to how to catch the offender, if there was an offender and this not just part of the general deterioration of things.

"It's fairly strong, if it's a spell," Flitwick remarked as he and the other heads of houses studied the unfortunate Fat Lady. "You would think there would be a residual house signature for something like this. We could at least narrow it down to one quarter of the school. But there's no one house whose magic predominates here – it's the same mixed signature as everywhere else."

"Nonsense," snapped McGonagall. "It has to be Slytherin. Who else would attack Gryffindor like this?"

"May I point out," interjected Snape, "that this is only one minor incident in a much larger pattern…" (the Fat Lady humpfed very loudly at this observation) "You will excuse me, ma'am, but that is the case – …in a much larger pattern, and there is no reason to suspect that it is necessarily Slytherin."

They began to fix the damage, but new instances reappeared each morning. After a week, things got worse.

Steps that had been solid became weak and treacherous. Doors came off in one's hand because the hinges had been removed. Plaster fell on heads at so much as a loud sneeze. Everyone began to tread softly, watching carefully for any hint of impending danger. Once again, there was no evidence to show who was behind the incidents.

In mid March, the Ides of March to be exact, in his Friday morning double class with Slytherin and Gryffindor, Snape assigned a potion that would temporarily strengthen night vision. The students settled down to work with a collective sigh that soon changed to gasps and giggles.

"Professor Snape, sir," said Tonks, "there's no such potion in the book."

"Of course there is," Snape replied. "Page sixty-three."

"Sir, page sixty-three is blank."

"Don't be ridiculous, you silly girl," Snape hissed, then glanced down at her book. Page sixty-three was blank. He gazed around the room. Page sixty-three in every text was blank. "Take out another schoolbook," Snape told Tonks. She did, and pages in that book were blank, too – pages that were for lessons the students were currently studying. It was a deliberate attempt to sabotage ongoing instruction. Snape strode to his own desk and pulled out his copy of the first year potions book. Page sixty-three was blank there as well.

It was Charlie Weasley's snicker that gave it all away. That and Winston Smith's sudden shyness when Snape spun to glare at him. The two boys were hauled to Dumbledore's office, where they quickly fingered a total of eleven boys from all four houses and most years.

"Do you mean to tell me that the lot of you, Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Slytherin, and Hufflepuff, all worked together to pull this off?" Dumbledore said. "Where is your house loyalty?"

"Loyalty is treason," said one of the Hufflepuffs. Sprout collapsed into a chair.

"But why damage the artwork?" asked Flitwick.

"Ugliness is beauty," a Ravenclaw replied, sending Flitwick into a fit.

"And the stairs and falling plaster?" McGonagall prompted.

"Uncertainty is safety," a fifth-year Gryffindor answered.

Snape closed his eyes. They were on Founders' time and the New Year would not begin for ten days. He hardly dared ask the question, but he couldn't escape. "The books?" he whispered.

"Ignorance is strength," Winston Smith said with a wicked grin.

xxxxxxxxxx

And then they were there, Monday, March 25, 1985, by which time Snape had started figuring the discrepancies of the Julian calendar in the tenth century compared with the Gregorian in the twentieth.

"They adjusted the calendar in the fourth century, and by the tenth it was five days out of line with the solar year," Snape told a mildly interested, and benign Dumbledore. "Today the Julian calendar is thirteen days off, which means that there's an eight day disparity between us and them…" He shuffled through his papers, dropping two on the floor, retrieving them, and starting to read again before he realized they were once more mixed up.

"What is the bottom line, Severus? Which day is New Year's Day according to the Founder's calendar?"

"Well, eh, assuming I did the calculations correctly and adjusted for years divisible by four hundred…"

"Just the date, Severus."

"March seventeenth."

"Eight days ago."

"That's right, sir. It's possible we should have cast the spells eight days ago."

"That's a relief anyway," Dumbledore sighed contentedly. "I was afraid you were going to tell me we'd have to wait a week longer."

"Sir, doesn't that mean we've missed…"

"Not at all, Severus. We are not required to perform the spells on New Year's Day. It is only required that the new spells not be performed in the same year that the old ones expired. It appears that we have taken into consideration every possible system for counting the years, including," Dumbledore chuckled, "the Jewish calendar and the Buddhist calendar."

"Oh." Snape paled. "Professor, the first Jewish month starts about now, but the New Year is in the fall, and I haven't checked the Muslim calendar. That's going to be hard because it's lunar and the years are shorter, so New Year's day is always changing, and I don't think…"

"Excellent! Please do not." Dumbledore shook his head gently. "You are obsessing, you know, Severus. Tell me, would the Founders have used the Jewish, Muslim, or Buddhist calendars?"

"No, sir."

"Then the problem does not exist. The only reason we have waited so long is to be sure we were in the following year according to the Founders' calendar. We have achieved that. You may put those figures away now."

"Yes, sir," Snape said, and left the office, trying to shuffle his papers into some kind of order as he descended the spiral staircase. McGonagall, Flitwick, and Sprout were coming up. Snape stepped aside to let them pass, then thought for a moment and followed them up to face Dumbledore again.

"Hullo, Severus! I had not expected to see you again so soon," Dumbledore said.

"Sir, don't you need me during the casting of the spells?"

"I don't think so."

"It just occurred to me," Snape continued, "that you have Professor McGonagall to represent Godric Gryffindor, Professor Flitwick for Rowena Ravenclaw, Professor Sprout as Helga Hufflepuff, and you need someone as proxy for Salazar Slytherin." Snape was unaware that behind him the other three were emphatically shaking their heads.

Dumbledore smiled. "I was planning to represent Slytherin," he said gently. "We really only need the four."

"But I'm head of Slytherin house…"

"And a fine potions brewer and excellent when it comes to hexes, jinxes, and curses, but we are looking at spells of transfiguring and charms of stability, and…"

"I still think…"

"Don't!" snapped McGonagall. "Severus, you're a half-blood. How could a half-blood stand in for Slytherin? One of the others, maybe, but their roles are covered."

"I suppose you're right," Snape said, in his disappointment missing the look of relief on everyone else's face. "I'll wait downstairs."

"You do that," said Dumbledore, patting him on the shoulder, and Snape went back down the spiral staircase and continued all the way to the Great Hall.

"What's eating at you?" Kettleburn asked, slipping into the chair next to Snape's at the high table. "First you miss the beginning of breakfast, then you come in looking like you'd just received a death sentence."

"They don't want me," Snape replied. "They don't need me, and when they don't need me, they don't want me. All I'm good for is washing dishes and tricking squids."

"Which have been two very valuable talents this year, let me tell you," said Kettleburn, reaching for more sausages. "Have some breakfast. You've gotten us through some tight places, and you deserve the best. Who doesn't want you?"

"Dumbledore… McGonagall… Flitwick and Sprout. They don't trust me with the Founders' magic because I'm a half-blood."

"You are?" Kettleburn said, a note of surprise in his voice. "I thought… Well, it isn't important."

"There. You see. You don't want me either. Bet you thought half-bloods never got into Slytherin, admit it."

"I am a bit surprised. Not a lot surprised, mind you, but a bit. Are you sure that's why they don't want you?"

Snape sighed. "McGonagall said so outright. She said a half-blood couldn't stand proxy for Salazar Slytherin."

"There you have it!" Kettleburn exclaimed. "It's not them that don't want you, it's Slytherin himself that doesn't want you. Aren't you glad you came to talk to me?"

"I can assure you," Snape replied, glaring narrowly at Kettleburn, "that Salazar Slytherin did not find a way to communicate a thousand years into the future in order to tell Dumbledore not to let the head of Slytherin house within a hundred yards of the spells if he's a half-blood."

"He still wouldn't like it."

"He's DEAD!"

"I'm sure that detail hasn't altered his perspective in the slightest."

By this time Snape was out and out sulking, pouting even, partly because he was having trouble thinking of a clever comeback remark. _Why am I having trouble thinking of a clever comeback remark?_ he thought. _I've never had that problem before._ He glanced around, and then at the ceiling. It was shimmering. The air up in the raftered beams was shimmering. Shimmering and slowly descending.

"Merlin…" Snape breathed, "they've started." Then, as loud as he could, he bellowed at the students and teachers in the Hall, "Out! Everybody out onto the lawn! Everybody out of the castle at once."

Naturally, no one moved, each turning first to his or her neighbor to ask "What's he on about?" but a few looked at Snape, who pointed up. A mass exodus then ensued, with Snape and the other teachers trying to keep the panicky students from trampling each other. It was amazing, and a tribute to the efficacy of adrenaline, that those who had been in the Great Hall were all outside on the lawn in less than thirty seconds.

The rest of the school was not so lucky. The shimmering effect had been descending from the ceiling of the entrance hall even as everyone ran for the outer doors, and now the fortunate ones who had been on the ground floor all watched as it sped down the outer walls into the very foundations of the building. And what was left after it passed was the mere shell and ruin of an ancient castle, its timbers rotted, its roof fallen in, and signs posted around saying, "Danger. Keep Out."

"Where are the rest of the students?" Kettleburn asked between gasps for breath. Running didn't suit him.

"Still inside, I suppose," Snape answered. He looked around. "How many of us got out in time?" he asked in his turn.

Together they counted. Of the faculty, there were only Snape, Kettleburn, Sinistra, and Futhark. From the smoke issuing out of his chimney, it appeared Hagrid had escaped. The others had apparently already finished breakfast and been trapped. A quick count showed that only eighty-three students had gotten out of the castle. The other hundred ninety-seven didn't make it.

"Whatever do you think that was?" Sinistra asked, coming over from the cliff's edge, which was as far as she'd been able to run. "It looked like some sort of a force field."

"It probably was," said Snape. "They were planning to recast the Founders' protective spells."

"Just like that? Without warning anyone? It doesn't sound like Dumbledore."

Snape looked at Sinistra and sighed. "Maybe he just got impatient. Meanwhile, what are we going to do." He nodded, and she followed his gaze to stare at the perimeter around them where the barrier fog still loomed.

The students near them looked shocked and scared. One of them was Tonks, whose hair was darkening to a charcoal color, as she sidled closer to the professors for security. _Like a baby who needs to clutch a blanket_, Snape thought.

"Do you think they're all dead?" Futhark asked, his voice trembling slightly.

"I'd like to think not," said Snape. "It's a terrible thought, that the Founders may have sent us a spell that was lethal. The castle certainly looks like it's been falling down for the last thousand years, doesn't it?"

Nobody wanted to go closer to the ruin. It was as if they could postpone ill tidings by pretending that nothing had happened. Snape contemplated the ivy growing rampant through windows that had long since lost their glass panes. The front door looked as if it would fall off its hinges if they tried to move it. Behind them, Hagrid cleared his throat. "So that's what it looks to be," he said calmly. "I always wondered on that. Would kinda put you off, wouldn't it?"

"What are you talking about?" asked Kettleburn, and the others turned to listen.

"Well, to them as ain't come in the right way, you know. To them as ain't got the secret. I always heard it looked like a pile o' rubble, but I never saw the place before I come in on the train, so I didn't know."

Snape was staring at Hagrid. "You mean it's like a Fidelius Charm?"

"Sure 't is. Now in a city with all them houses close together, you can lose one and no one 'll notice, but how're you going to explain missing all them acres o' land? So the spell just makes it look unwelcoming."

The solution seemed simplicity itself. "How do we get the secret?" Snape asked.

"Now why d' ye think the first years always come in over the water? Once you see it from the water and come up through the boat grotto, you got it. We just got to come in through the grotto once." The students perked up, and Tonks' hair began to lighten again.

"Excellent! How do we get to the grotto?" Snape asked.

"In the boats, o' course."

"And how do we get the boats?"

"They're in the grotto."

"Wonderful."

Even Hagrid saw the problem. "I suppose we could just wait out here awhile. Professor Dumbledore's sure to figure out we can't see the castle proper, and he'll send the boats to us."

Snape had other ideas. "Hooper!" he yelled. "I saw you, Hooper. You're out here!"

"Yes, sir!" Hooper nudged Tonks aside and came towards Snape.

The two walked toward the cliff edge together while Snape explained the problem. "Do you think you could get the squid to bring us the boats?"

"I should be able to, as long as the squid can still see the grotto."

"It shouldn't be a problem. Fidelius Charms don't affect owls and other creatures like that. This shouldn't affect the squid."

And it didn't affect the squid. A few moments of showing, another several minutes of waiting, and the squid began pushing the boats out onto the lake and then guiding them to the shore. Twelve boats, so they would have to make the trip in two shifts.

Hagrid went with the first group, moving out as close to the middle of the lake as they dared before turning and approaching the cliff from the south. He waved cheerily at the second group on the shore as the boats disappeared into what seemed like solid cliff.

Another ten minute wait, and the squid was bringing the boats back out again, Hagrid still in his to lead them, since the boats had to be steered with magic. Snape got into the same boat as Kettleburn, with Hooper behind him and a now melon-haired Tonks. Snape didn't exactly try to ignore the girl, but he made no special effort to pay attention to her. It was a little embarrassing to have those big eyes fixed unblinkingly on him.

They rode out into the lake, then angled for the cliff. At once, Hogwarts rose high above them in all its glory, sunlight glinting off its turrets and windows. The entrance to the grotto was clear before them, and Snape was reminded of himself at age eleven, when he'd seen Hogwarts for the first time. Then the boats slipped into the dark coolness under the cliff, and they were in the grotto.

Snape started to leave the boat, then stopped abruptly. "My robe's caught on something," he told Kettleburn.

"It certainly is," said Kettleburn, and Snape turned to find that Tonks had seized hold of the cloth in a viselike grip. Snape stared helplessly at Kettleburn.

"Do something," he mouthed, while Kettleburn shook with silent laughter.

"Miss Tonks," Snape said, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice, "You really have to release me. I have work to do." Kettleburn bent down and started prying Tonks's fingers away from the fabric, but that only seemed to make her hold on tighter.

"What's wrong with the child?" Snape hissed.

"She seems to be rather attached to you," Kettleburn replied, smiling at his own joke.

"Disattach her. People are beginning to notice."

This was, unfortunately, true. Hagrid in particular was beginning to notice. "Ain't you coming up Professors?" he asked.

"In a minute," Kettleburn called. "You go on ahead."

You don't get rid of Hagrid so easily. Shooing the other students and professors up the tunnel, he came over to the boat. "Hullo there, Nymphadora," he said cheerily. "I didn't see you at first. Hullo, Paul. Everything all right this year?"

"Sure," said Hooper who, Snape realized, was still in the boat as well. "I particularly liked the flood. It's been kind of boring since then."

Kettleburn and Hagrid both chuckled at this, and Snape fumed, but Tonks turned to stare at Hooper with wide eyes. Their gaze met, and Hooper looked quickly away. Then Hagrid bent down and lifted Tonks from the boat, moving slowly so that Snape could clamber out at the same time.

"Now you got to let go of Professor Snape, Nymphadora." Hagrid said gently. "He's got other things he's got to do."

"It's okay, Tonks," Hooper added. "The castle's back to normal again. It's all fixed. Didn't you see it from the boat? I did. I can hardly wait to get back up on the lawn. Come on. You go with me, and we'll see it together."

Watching Hooper carefully, Tonks slowly disengaged her fingers from Snape's robe. "Are you sure?" she asked timidly.

"Positive. Professor Snape knew what to do, and we all did it. Fixed. No problems."

Tonks nodded. "You go first," she said.

Hooper shrugged and turned to walk up the tunnel, Tonks behind him. The two children were soon out of sight up the winding path. Kettleburn turned to Snape. "How'd he do that?" he asked.

"I'm not sure," Snape said. "He can read animals. I didn't think he could read people, but it looked like that's what he was doing. At least he didn't want to look at her eyes. What do you think, Hagrid?"

"Children is animals," Hagrid said calmly. "Don't surprise me at all as he can pick up something. Got her problem pegged at any rate. Poor kid – all the first years. They never been to Hogwarts before, and the moment they come everything starts falling apart. It's a wonder we don't got more of 'em acting funny. Guess when she saw the castle in ruins it scared her. If the lad's right and it's all back to normal, she'll be fine."

Snape started up the dark tunnel. "I need to see Dumbledore and find out what's happening," he said. He was stopped by Hagrid's hand on his arm.

"Let the young ones get to the top ahead of you," Hagrid said. "It'll do her good to look to one her own age for support 'stead of clinging to you all the time."

"Clinging is right," laughed Kettleburn. "That one had quite a grip."

Together the three made their way to the top of the tunnel and onto the lawn. Hogwarts castle stood regally before them in all its splendor, no trace of the morning's ruin remaining. Taking a deep breath, Snape entered the great oak doors, crossed the entrance hall, and took the stairs up to Dumbledore's office two at a time.

"There you are, Severus," said Dumbledore as he entered. "We were expecting you earlier. Did something delay you?"

"Nothing serious," Snape answered, accepting a cup of tea from Sprout and noting the smug look on McGonagall's face. "Did you know the castle looks like a ruin to everyone who wasn't inside when the spell was cast?"

"Indeed!" exclaimed Dumbledore. "How do you know?"

"That was quite an effect it had, and few of us in the hall wanted to take a chance on its benignness. We went outside and had to come back on the boats in order to see the castle again."

"Oh dear," said Dumbledore. "I suppose that means that Hogsmeade and the Ministry will not be able to see the place properly either."

"Is everything else back in order?" Flitwick asked.

"I don't know," Snape said. "I didn't stop to check." He paused to think for a moment, then set his cup hurriedly down on Dumbledore's desk. "Kitchen!" he yelped, and ran from the room.

Behind him, McGonagall shook her head sadly. "That boy needs therapy," she commented to no one in particular.

Snape ran down the seven flights of stairs to the entrance hall and from there to the kitchens. The breakfast crew was washing up, and everything looked neat and tidy, but there were still no house-elves. Just out of curiosity, Snape raised his wand and pointed it at a greasy pot. "Scourgify!" he said, and the pot was filled with pink suds that scoured it clean in an instant. The students watched in silence, then suddenly realized what had happened and began to cheer. Wands appeared out of robes, and the kitchen was quickly full of pink soap. Snape retreated, certain the washing up would be finished in a matter of minutes.

The next stop was the dungeons. The rubble that had blocked the entrance was gone, so Snape tiptoed gingerly down the corridor to his classroom. All was as it should be, minus the items they'd taken out after the earthquake. Another quick check revealed that office and bedroom were also back in order, though Snape was not yet certain that he wanted to spend the night there. Maybe wait another day, just to be sure.

Last, but by no means least, was Slytherin house, and there Snape was disappointed. At lake level, with another flight of stone steps still to go, he met water. Slytherin house was still flooded. Slowly Snape retraced his steps and went back up to report to Dumbledore.

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"But why no house-elves? And why can't you get into Slytherin?" Sprout had fixed a fresh cup of hot tea and handed it to Snape. "I thought everything was to be repaired with those spells."

"Alas, no," said Dumbledore gently. "We renewed the spells that had expired, but they are still new spells. They could reinstate conditions, not reverse them. It is possible the house-elves are trying to come back. Or not."

"How did Hogwarts get house-elves, anyway?" Snape asked.

"House-elves always serve the family and house, dear," said McGonagall.

"No, no," said Snape, "you can't fob me off with a non-answer. There was a time when Hogwarts didn't exist. At some finite point in time, the elves had to arrive. Why did they start working at Hogwarts? And Hogwarts isn't the property of a family. Students come and go, teachers come and go, headmasters come and go. Who do the elves serve? And as for that, how did the first elves start serving the first wizards? Were they defeated in a war? Did they lose a bet? It had to start somewhere. And since house-elf magic is so much stronger than wizard magic, why aren't we their servants?"

The other four stared at Snape for a moment. "It just doesn't work that way, Severus," McGonagall said.

"Thank you, Professor. I just love the way you have all the details and technicalities at your fingertips. I feel enlightened."

Dumbledore stepped in then to prevent bloodshed. "What we must do next," he advised, "is see to Slytherin house. I presume that it is still in ruins because it was damaged by the squid rather than by the operation of magic. The spell we cast merely renewed the shields, but did not repair unconnected damage. Shall we go down to the dungeons?"

They collected Hagrid on the way and summoned Hooper from the Great Hall, Tonks trailing quietly behind him. There was some discussion between Hooper and the squid at the edge of the lake, and several trips by the squid to inspect the outer hull of Slytherin, but at last Hooper was able to draw a picture of what the common room and dormitories looked like from the outside. Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Flitwick studied the picture at some length.

"This will be temporary, of course," said Dumbledore, "but it should give us time to get inside and start the major, more permanent repairs from there. Go inside, Severus, and tell us if it is working."

"How am I supposed to do that?"

"You will think of something."

The solution turned out to be simple. With the help of Josh Van Zandt, Andrew Colfax, Kate Digby, and Richie Gamp, Snape quickly assembled a line of Slytherin students that formed a communication chain from the flooded level all the way to the edge of the cliff. News of change below could be passed upwards and out to Dumbledore in less than thirty seconds. "Anything?" Van Zandt called from the staircase above Snape.

"Not yet."

A few minutes later – "Anything now?"

"Not yet."

Again – "Anything new?"

"Nothing yet."

"What about now?"

"Nothing – wait!" Snape watched closely. The water level on the step below him had gone down an inch, two inches, six…"It's working! Tell them it's working!"

The water continued to recede. Dumbledore joined Snape, and Slytherin students crowded the stairs behind them as inch by inch, foot by foot, more and more of the lowest level was revealed. Finally, only small puddles of water remained on the slimy flagstones as they stood before the blank wall that was the entrance to Slytherin house.

"Do you remember the password, sir?" Josh Van Zandt asked at Snape's elbow.

"Password? I don't need any silly password. I'm the head of house. As long as the water hasn't damaged the wall, of course." Snape faced the wall. "Wall of Slytherin, do you know who I am?"

The wall groaned a hollow, spectral groan.

"Wall of Slytherin, please open and allow Professor Dumbledore and myself to enter."

The wall groaned again, paused, and then slid open with a grating, rusty sound. It appeared unhappy with its long underwater soaking. Snape went in first, followed by Dumbledore. The students waited outside until they had permission.

Slytherin house was a mess. Every piece of furniture and decoration was waterlogged. Strange plants grew from floors, walls, and ceilings. Pond scum made walking slippery and dangerous, and desperate fish flopped helplessly on the stones. The fish were the first task. There was still water in wastebaskets, footlockers, and one of the bathtubs. The older students edged their way along the slick floors, putting fish into water-filled containers and passing them back up the stairs to be returned to the lake. Then they started moving furniture up and out onto the lawn. Luckily, they could now employ magic, which made the job much easier.

This time Snape insisted on staying with the other four professors to help with the repairs. "I'm not proxy for anyone," he pointed out. "I'm head of house, and it's bad enough you all getting to spy around Slytherin without giving you the chance to do it unsupervised."

"The dear lad doesn't trust us," Sprout said to McGonagall with an almost straight face.

"Would you leave me unattended in Hufflepuff house?" Snape countered.

"That's different."

"Only to you."

"You still don't trust us."

Snape fingered his wand. "About as far as I can throw you, which here…" He estimated the distance between Sprout and the nearest wall. "…is about two and a half feet. When we get back up onto the lawn, I'll be able to trust you a good fifteen yards."

"You try it, young man," Sprout laughed, "and I'll trust you right off the edge of the cliff."

"Tut, tut, children," Dumbledore intervened, "we do still have work to perform. Severus will supervise…"

"Why can't I cast spells, too?"

Dumbledore peered over his glasses. "Do you know any masonry spells? Plastering? Light and plumbing? Do you have any experience at all in the construction trades?"

"No, but…"

"Just supervise then, Severus. It is what you are good at."

The spell casting took the rest of the day, since they had to bring in real material – brick, mortar, plaster, and paint – from the storerooms. Things had to be as strong and permanent as possible, so magic was used to mix, move, and dry, but not to transfigure or create. Meanwhile the students continued to shift things out and up to the lawn where they employed cleaning and drying spells to return their things to an acceptable state.

By dinner time, most of Slytherin house was once again clean and habitable but, like Snape, the students were wary. Only Josh Van Zandt and Andrew Colfax were brave enough to sleep there that night. Even Snape stayed in the upper floors, dreaming of earthquakes and floors caving in. The next morning, everything was fine. More and more students moved back into their dormitories, and by Friday the twenty-eighth, the castle at least was back to normal, or as normal as it could be without the elves.

"It is a pity we have not yet found a way to remove the fog barrier," Dumbledore said at lunch that day. "The Easter break should have begun tomorrow. It would be nice to allow the students to go home for Easter break."

They discussed the problem of Romanovsky as well, for he was no longer in a no-magic zone and might try to escape though, as Flitwick put it, "Where he would escape to escapes me at the moment."

There were some minutes to go before Snape's afternoon class began, and he stepped out onto the lawn for some air, just at the moment that Hooper came up along the path to the top of the hill, his falcon on his wrist.

"Hey, Professor!" Hooper called. "Randir's here!"

"Is he enjoying the touch of spring weather we're having today?" Snape asked, Randir being one of the few wizard pets he actually felt a fondness for.

"Looks like it. He's acting real affectionate, like he's missed me."

"I don't doubt it. Wintering in an owlery can't have been pleasant, even if…" Snape stopped. There was a grin on Hooper's face that was inspired by more than an overwintering falcon with an owl fetish. "Wait a minute. I haven't seen Randir all year."

"That's right, Professor. You haven't. He hasn't been here. He just now showed up, kind of suddenly."

"Where?"

"Down by the gate. I was walking along the perimeter, and poof, there he was."

Snape seized Hooper's arm – gently so as not to upset the frequently protective Randir – and hustled him into the Great Hall. "Headmaster!" he called as soon as they were inside. "Headmaster, we have a bird who's just come through the barrier!"

The Hall became instantly silent. Dumbledore rose, trembling with anticipation, and beckoned Hooper to him. "How did he get in, young man? Please ask the falcon how he got in."

Communication was brief. "He says there's a hole in the top of the barrier. You can't get through the sides, but suddenly today you can get through the top. He says there's lots and lots of people in Hogsmeade. They've been there for months."

"Excellent!" cried Dumbledore. "We finally have a way to coordinate our actions on both sides of the barrier. Could owls get through?"

"Any bird could get through now, sir. The hole up there is pretty big."

They raced for the owlery, Dumbledore summoning parchment and quills as they went. There it was a matter of moments to scribble a message and give it to an owl. What took longer was to convince the owl to condescend to listen to the falcon for instructions on how to leave the school grounds. Then the owl took off, spiraling higher and higher into the air until it seemed a mere speck before turning and flying northwards toward Hogsmeade. It reached the fog and disappeared into it.

"You see," Dumbledore explained as they waited, "If we can be sure of performing the same spell at the same time at the same place on both sides of the barrier, we have a chance of bringing it down. All we needed was the ability to communicate."

It took nearly half an hour. After ten minutes they were worried. After twenty they were preparing for the worst. Just before thirty minutes had passed, Kettleburn yelled, "There she blows!" and the owl materialized out of the mist, beating its wings with steady purpose. And that was not all.

Behind it, like a winged army, there came dozens of owls. Barn owls, screech owls, hoot owls, tawny owls, every imaginable type of owl. They soared and swooped and plunged, riding the breeze as a surfer does a wave, rolling and tumbling gleefully in mid air. Owls from half the wizarding families in Britain, sent to discover if a member of the family was alive and well. They glided through windows, rocketed through doorways, pounced on students who were outside. All the mail that had been building up for seven months came pouring into Hogwarts with the owls. Everyone got at least one message by at least one owl. Everyone except Snape.

"Who'd send me an owl?" he answered to McGonagall's query as she folded and put a letter from her son into her pocket.

"I'm sure someone cares what's happened to you," she responded, clearly concerned.

"Certainly they do," Snape said. "There's old Mrs. Hanson, who's cared for me since I was three, and the lads at the local, and Alice and Noreen at the market, and Dr. Parmenter in Colne, and… But not one of them would know that anything unusual had happened, and none of them has an owl."

"Oh," said McGonagall. "Muggles."

"You don't have to make it sound like a disease. 'He was doing fine, dear, until he came down with muggles.' I wouldn't have pegged you for one of the prejudiced ones."

McGonagall sniffed and dabbed at her nose with a hanky. "I'm glad there's someone, Severus," she said, and meant it.

The first, most important need – to assure everyone that everyone was alive and well – now gave way to the momentous business of removing the barrier. Romanovsky refused to help, so much of Dumbledore's planning was educated guesswork. He started exchanging messages with the team on the other side.

"Who's out there?" Snape asked after about half an hour.

"Witches and wizards," Dumbledore replied, humming as he penned his latest missive.

"I know that. I was wondering about their names."

"No one you would be interested in."

That, of course, immediately sparked Snape's interest. "I'll assume then that it's someone I know. Maybe several someones I know. Maybe a couple of people I'd cheerfully throw into the lake for the squid."

"If you absolutely insist on knowing, Severus…"

"I didn't absolutely insist on anything."

"And you refuse to be left in the dark…"

"You can leave me in the dark any time you want."

"Then I have no choice but to tell you."

"I don't want to know!"

"It is Rufus Scrimgeour and Alastor Moody. There, you see? It was better not to ask."

As Snape stomped away fuming, McGonagall, too, murmured, "You see. You shouldn't have asked," which only served to make Snape fume more. He did not want to meet Scrimgeour or Moody again, and was beginning to think of the barrier fog as one the high points of his existence.

Messages continued passing between the two groups, discussing spell wording, timing, location, support, and possible backfiring. Then Hagrid reminded Dumbledore that the wizards in Hogsmeade would see a ruined castle. Dumbledore immediately advised the team on the other side.

"It appears," Dumbledore told the staff a few minutes later, after receiving the reply, "that Millicent Bagnold wants to be here for the occasion. They do not want her to see the ruined castle. I am going to suggest that there be a ceremony on the lake shore, and that the Ministry officials and dignitaries be met by the boats and brought in through the grotto. It will be like reliving their first arrival. It should play well."

Snape disagreed. "I'm sorry you even mentioned it to them, sir. I'd dearly love to scare the living sh…"

"Severus!" McGonagall snapped. "Watch your language."

"I think they deserve it. It is the Ministry we're talking about."

"We realize that a couple of your good friends are on the other side of the barrier," said Dumbledore, "but it would be highly impolitic of us to attempt to upset them right now. What if Judge Bones also wishes to attend?"

That took some thought. "All right," Snape said reluctantly. "For the sake of Judge Bones we should have a splendid ceremony with no problems. May I steer the boat with Scrimgeour and Moody in it? I promise to go into the water with them."

"After conferring with the squid, I presume," responded Dumbledore. "No, Severus. I shall not trust you on the water today."

It was now five o'clock and about an hour and a half from sunset. Scrimgeour informed them that Bagnold, the Minister of Magic, had arrived and was waiting on the beach near the train station for the fog to disperse and the boats to arrive over the water. Most of Hogsmeade was south of the lake as well, and there would be several trips made by the boats if everything went well. Snape was sent into the castle to supervise the party and buffet dinner that would celebrate the reopening of Hogwarts.

"After all," Kettleburn reminded him. "You're still the best cook we've got."

Snape rushed through the first part of his task, able to use magic now to peel, chop, and slice. With food beginning to cook, he dashed out of the kitchens to the edge of the cliff to watch. He was just in time.

Slowly, imperceptibly at first, the tendrils of gray at the top of the barrier began to unravel and dissipate. As the effect moved downward, it speeded up, and within moments the fog had become a mist, and then merely wisps of cloud, until the forest, the lake, the surrounding mountains, and Hogsmeade were once again clearly visible.

Hogwarts was free.

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	8. Chapter 8 – 1984 – 1985 5

**Severus Snape: The Middle Years – The Fourth Year, 1984-1985 (5)**

The boats were kept busy for hours, and Hogwarts was crowded that evening – mostly with witches and wizards who had a son or daughter at the school and insisted on leaving with the child in tow. Surprisingly, none of the students complained about being forced to start the Easter break early, and Dumbledore refused to press the issue (not that anyone asked him to). By ten o'clock that night, the school was nearly deserted.

"Do you think they'll return in two weeks?" McGonagall asked, having checked and ascertained that not one Gryffindor student remained in the castle. She herself looked a bit antsy, as if wanting to be off home as well.

"It will depend on how well Hogwarts holds up during that time. Now that our exchange professor is gone, we should not have any more problems." Dumbledore swirled the mead in his glass. "Did you wish to have a holiday as well, Minerva?"

"If you could spare me. It seems all my charges are gone, so I have no real duties here."

"And you, Pomona? Filius? Severus? Are your houses empty as well?"

They all nodded. Not one of their students was left in the castle either.

"A momentous occasion," said Dumbledore. "It appears we all may take some time off this Easter. Will you go home as well, Severus? You have no family."

"I think so, sir. I mean, my neighbors don't know there was anything wrong, but I do, and it'll be good getting away. Just a couple of questions, though."

"Have you ever been at a loss for questions in all the years that I have known you?"

"I guess not. But really… First, what are you going to do about the house-elves? And second, when is Romanovsky having his hearing. I'd like to be there. To speak out against leniency, naturally." Romanovsky had been unceremoniously hauled off to the Ministry where the Aurors were to entertain him for a while. Snape knew those cells rather well, but was still unable to work up any sympathy for the erstwhile Dark Arts professor.

"I understood that a formal hearing was contemplated for May, date not yet set," Dumbledore answered. "As for the elves, it depends on the terms of the contract."

"Contract? I thought they were bound to serve one house and one family forever."

"I am sure even you have noticed, Severus, that Hogwarts is neither a house nor a family. The elves were contracted out by their families. I have been checking, and the terms of the contract seem to be for as long as Hogwarts retains its position in the wizarding world. When the building began to crumble and the magic was suppressed, they left. Now that Hogwarts's position is restored, I expect them back. Three have already arrived, did you know? It turns out that in the last thousand years their original families died out, and they had nowhere to go. They were quite thrilled to learn that they could come back without violating the contract."

"That's good to know," Snape sighed. "I was getting tired of being chief cook and bottle washer."

"How long a vacation do you think you will take?"

Snape thought for a moment. "Just a few days," he said. "I have a promise to keep."

"And what would that be?" Dumbledore looked truly curious, as did the other three heads of house.

"I need to find a lady squid who's interested in having her own lake in the high-rent part of town," said Snape. "I promised the giant squid that when the barrier went down I'd look."

"You are a glutton for punishment," McGonagall chuckled.

They all departed the next morning.

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"Russ! Russ Snape, whatever are you doing home this time of year?"

Snape turned to greet Mrs. Hanson and was immediately pressed into tea at four, an invitation he accepted gratefully. He was at the market, shopping for supplies for the upcoming week. It was only natural to run into his old baby-sitter.

"It's the Easter break right now," he explained. "I have several days free, and I had this intense desire to come home for a bit. It'll only be for about a week."

The week was wonderfully reinvigorating. Snape wandered the moors, threw the odd dart or two at the local pub, visited Mrs. Hanson, and studied. Studied late into the night every night. What he found was that giant squid live in many areas of the world, including the northern British Isles. He also found they live hundreds of feet below the surface of the sea, and that coming to the top could kill them.

_So how does our squid survive, and how do I get a female to even talk to me, much less travel to the Grampians to join him?_

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Paul Hooper lived in Norfolk, and Snape sent an owl from the Leaky Cauldron before dropping in for a visit.

"So you're the potions chap," said Mr. Hooper Sr. as he opened the door to admit Snape to their home. "Bit young for a head of house, aren't you?"

"I was four years ago when I got the job," Snape replied, remembering that the man had been in Gryffindor, and was an auror as well. "But I assure I am daily growing older."

"Well, that's all right, then. You've got Paul to settle down, and that's good, too. Come in and tell us what you need."

The sitting room was cozy, and Snape accepted a cup of tea from a plumpish Mrs. Hooper who was far more impressed about 'settling Paul down' than Mr. Hooper was. Paul himself joined them after a minute or two.

"Hey Professor, what're we after this time?" he said as he walked in.

"Whales," Snape replied. "Sperm whales. They're in the Arctic right now, so dress warmly."

"Wicked, but I thought you needed a squid."

"The squid are deep under water. The whales have to come to the surface to breathe. The whales hunt the squid. If we find the whales, chances are there'll be squid below."

"So we just fight off the whales and rescue a squid, right? Piece of cake."

"If you don't mind my asking," Mr. Hooper said calmly, "just how big are these whales anyway?"

"The males are about forty tons, the females about twenty-two tons. Paul should definitely bring his wand."

"He's under age."

"It doesn't matter," Snape pointed out. "We'll be in international waters, outside Ministry jurisdiction."

"Wicked," was all Hooper Jr. could think of to say.

The boat was a fast little motor launch that Snape rented in the Hebrides in straightforward muggle fashion, then operated by magic. It took some getting used to, especially since Hooper kept saying things like 'squid off the starboard bow' and pointing left.

"Starboard is right!" Snape yelled at him for the twelfth time. "Port is left! And don't say anything until you actually see something!"

"Aye, aye, sir!"

After a while, with nothing to look at but sea and sky, Hooper began to get bored and to notice how cold it was. "When are we going to find the whales?" he started asking.

"How am I supposed to know?" Snape snapped. "You're the one who can think like animals. You tell me."

"That way," said Hooper, pointing vaguely northwest. "I'll bet there're some over there."

They sailed on for a couple of hours, seeing nothing but sea and sky. "Over this way, eh," Snape commented after a while. "Any more bright ideas, Sherlock?"

"How big are these whales, Professor? I mean, how long?"

"Males, fifty to sixty-five feet. Females, thirty-five to fifty-five feet."

"How long is our boat?"

"Fifty-two feet."

"Then I guess that one over there is too small to be a sperm whale."

Snape stopped the motor launch about as fast as you can stop a speeding motor launch without scuttling it. "Where?" he demanded.

"Over there," said Hooper, pointing. "It just came to the surface a minute ago."

"That's odd," said Snape, turning the launch toward the small whale. "If it's a baby, it shouldn't be alone. Sperm whales travel in groups and are very protective of each other."

Three hundred yards off the starboard bow, a female whale breached high into the air and came down with a crash of water like a bursting dam. Churning foam in its wake, it raced toward the launch and the baby whale beside it. On either side and behind, more whales were surfacing.

Snape had his wand out in a flash, though he wasn't sure what spells he could cast. If charms and spells of protection didn't always work on Hagrid because of his size, how could he expect them to work on a twenty ton monster? Surprisingly enough, however, the whales didn't ram the launch. Instead they surrounded the baby whale, and one of them swam over to the launch to investigate. Snape pushed Hooper forward. "Find out what they're going to do," he hissed.

Hooper was, understandably, not enthused about the contact. There was no place to hide, though, so he edged his way to the guard rail and inched along it to where he could look at the whale's eye. As soon as he established contact, the whale shifted its position to stare intently at him.

"She wants to know if we're the ones who stop the hunters," he called over to Snape after a moment. "She's seen people in small boats come out and get in the way of the hunters, and if we're like them, she won't hurt us."

"Agree with that. We're not hunting whales. We're not going to hurt any of them."

"She wants to know why we came close to the baby."

"Tell her we were surprised to see the baby and wanted to know if it was hurt."

This took a few moments, but whales are a lot smarter than squids, so the communication could be detailed and nuanced. Hooper drew away, thought for a second, then said to Snape, "The baby whale's sick."

"Sick in what way?"

"They don't know. It's sick. They don't know what to do. When they're sick, they sometimes try to beach themselves so they can be sure to keep breathing. You're a healer, right?"

"I'm not the greatest of healers, and I've never healed a whale. Don't even suggest it." It was Snape's turn to think. "If we got close to the whale, could you see what was wrong with it? I've done it with people, but I can't do it with animals."

This was passed on to the whale, who went to speak to the others. Ten minutes later, Snape was edging the launch close enough to the baby so that Hooper could look into its eye. When he was finished, he turned to Snape. "There's something in there that's all blocked up by something and whatever's supposed to go through it isn't going through."

"Wonderful," said Snape. "From that I'm supposed to make a diagnosis." He paused to reflect. "Does it have to do with the stomach?"

"No, it's beyond that, past that."

A sudden thought came to Snape. "What color are its eyes?"

"Black. No, wait. The white part of the eye is kind of yellow."

"Jaundice. Why didn't I study whale anatomy instead of History of Magic? Can you see or feel the intestine?"

"Yes."

"Is it going from a gland into the intestine? Or from a gland that goes into another gland into the intestine?"

"Uh, not sure. There's only one gland that goes into the intestine. It's really big, and the tube between the two is blocked up."

This took some thinking. _Do whales have gall bladders? Aren't there some animals that don't have gall bladders? Why doesn't Hogwarts teach anatomy?_ To Hooper Snape said, "What about the blockage? Is it hard or is it spongy?"

"Spongy."

"Okay, I'm going to assume a tumor blocking the bile duct. Gad I wish I knew more about whales. Tell the whales I'm going to try something that might help, but I'm not sure how much it will help."

"Okay. Do you have to touch the baby to do it?"

"Now how am I supposed to touch a baby whale in the North Sea?"

"I just thought it was better if you touched it."

"Only if nothing else works. And even then, I don't want to get into the water with a whale."

"You could ride the back of a whale."

"You ride the back of the whale, you little imp. You want me alive. I have to steer the boat!"

One of the whales next to the baby left its side to allow the launch to come closer. Others pushed against the launch to slow it so that it wouldn't bump the baby too hard. When launch and calf were side by side, Snape could almost touch the young whale, who held itself very still. Holding his wand out over the creature, Snape began a low, rhythmic chant, one his grandmother Nana had used for various kinds of growths, including cancer.

Almost immediately, Snape could 'feel' the lump, and knew instinctively that except for its size and location, it was benign. He'd never thought before about the possibility of non-human species having cancers and tumors, but really it was logical. Around him he could 'feel' the clicks, whistles, and thrumming pulses that quickly harmonized with and supported his chant. The calf clicked and wriggled in discomfort, but the older whales would not let him slip away.

After half an hour, Snape could 'feel' the lump begin to soften. Its tissue was losing its integrity, the first step on the way to dissolving. The calf felt something, too, and whistled, causing the adults to increase the volume of their song. Another hour and the tumor began to break up. Another hour and it was gone. The calf expressed its relief at the removal of pressure by relieving itself.

"Merlin!" Hooper shrieked. "That stinks! What'd it do?"

"Exactly what you would do in similar circumstances. It's just bigger is all. Control yourself." To tell the truth, Snape was having some trouble controlling himself, but he had to set an example. "Wait a couple of years and that could be worth a lot of money."

"Whale poo? How?" Hooper gasped.

"Ambergris. Some of what's in there is going to coalesce and harden and be worth a fortune in the perfume industry. They can't kill whales for it anymore, so most of the time they use an artificial substance, but now and then some ambergris washes up on a beach…"

"They put whale poo in perfume! Ick! How do you know stuff like that?"

"Not all of it, just the ambergris. The rest washes away. And I read. You know – words on paper that impart information to the educated…"

The baby whale, meanwhile, was being led away by two of the adults who seemed inordinately pleased by its odoriferous productivity. The rest of the adults remained near the launch. Hooper renewed contact.

"They want to know how they can help us now that we've helped them," Hooper relayed to Snape.

There was no time to ponder the workings of a Providence that would bring a sick baby whale to exactly the right spot at exactly the right time to aide Snape in his quest. Pondering would have to wait until later. "Tell them I need an adult female giant squid, and I need her alive," Snape said.

There was extended conversation. "They don't understand why you would want a live squid. Don't you intend to eat it?"

"I intend to breed it to another squid and have lots and lots of baby squid."

"They think you're crazy. Besides, squid can't…" Hooper struggled for the word. "They can't do that thing where whales come up fast and jump right out of the water."

"Breach. And we know that. Can they bring it up slowly?"

"They don't know. They've never tried to bring a squid up slowly. You move too slow, and the squid fight back. That one whale there? She got those scars on her head when she moved too slowly and a squid fought back. Apparently a squid in a corner is a nasty thing."

"Still, we want one. Can they get it?"

There was a cetacean conference, and then one of the whales reported back. "Wow!" was Hooper's reaction. "They're smart! They usually catch the squid by stunning them with a really loud pulse, but they think that if they use clicks and whistles they can drive the squid ahead of them in the direction they want it to go and gradually bring it to the surface. If they go slowly in cold water, it should be okay. There's icebergs north of here, and they'll move in that direction if we want to meet them there."

Snape started to question the presence of icebergs in the North Atlantic at the beginning of April, then remembered the Titanic. _I guess the whales really do know what they're talking about._

While the whales hunted, Snape left Hooper to apparate back to Hogsmeade, and rushed up the hill and through the castle to Dumbledore's office. "I need to be able to apparate into the lake from the North Sea," he gasped, panting from the exertion, to an astounded Dumbledore. "Can you lift the defenses? And by the way, how do you handle side by side with something that could weigh six hundred pounds?"

There were apparently a decent number of squid in the area, and the whales soon isolated one. Inch by inch and yard by yard, they coaxed it upwards and northwards until it was at the surface and close to the launch. Snape had returned, and Hooper was preparing to communicate with yet another squid.

One might argue that the situation was unfair. The squid was, after all, in immediate danger of being eaten, and hardly in a position to negotiate a better deal. It should be noted, however, that squid have none of those embarrassing anthropomorphic qualities that engender feelings of guilt in humans who exploit animals. Not only do they not mate for life, it appears that down in the sunless depths they are not always sure who or what they are mating with. The basic rule seems to be, if you bump into it in the dark and it doesn't eat you, have fun. Excitement induces hunger, and females have been known to munch on their mates… On second thought, you don't really want all this information, do you? Snape didn't either, but he had little choice since he was on a quest.

Suffice it to say that, having expected to be dinner and now being offered a romantic interlude with a lonely bachelor in a private lake with a view of the castle, the female squid was more than happy to go along.

Snape had selected one side of the lake for the new squid's introduction to Hogwarts, sealed it off from the rest of the water, and now he had to prepare it. First he apparated with Hooper back to the lake by the grotto to tell the giant squid what was happening. Then he returned to the North Sea to cut and transport ice from the berg to the isolated and temporarily walled off section of the lake where the new squid would be able to adjust to the temperature change gradually.

Dumbledore was waiting with Hagrid next to the spot designated as the holding tank, a large area about three hundred feet square. "So you really think you can do it, then? It can be tricky dealing with non-magical creatures, you know."

"Just a matter of proper, prior planning, sir."

"I take it you have yet to splinch a squid. Not a pretty sight, I can assure you."

"Do I understand by that that you have splinched a squid, sir?"

Dumbledore peered at Snape over his glasses. "Do not get cheeky with me, young man. I am a lot older than you and have experienced much more."

"What about the salt?" Hagrid asked.

"The only experience I'm interested in now, sir, is squid experience. Anything else is of little practical use." Snape was monitoring the ice melt and checking that the magical barrier confined the drop in temperature to the tank.

"What about the salt?" Hagrid repeated.

"I understand, Severus, that you are determined to complete this task because of a possibly misguided sense of obligation to a creature that would not even remember you next Tuesday if you did not constantly remind him. The effects of your actions on a wild animal cannot yet be determined…"

"Salt!" Hagrid yelled at the top of his voice, causing both Snape and Dumbledore to jump a good meter into the air.

"I don't think salinity should be a problem," Snape replied after his heart rate had dropped back under a hundred. "After all, our squid has no problem with the lake water."

"That's 'cause he's a magical squid. Born and bred here from a line o' lake squid."

"Bred? But there are no females, no other squid… How can you breed from a population of one?"

"That were a mistake," Hagrid said, glaring significantly at Dumbledore, "but as it happened before my time, I ain't gonna comment on it. As for them wild squid, they need salt in their water like the ocean. Thirty-five parts per thousand, as I recall, or they gets sluggish and then die."

"How do you know that?" Snape asked.

"I'm the gamekeeper."

"Oh." Snape stared first at Hagrid, then at Dumbledore. There was no help for it, so he swallowed his pride and said quietly, "I'm open to suggestions."

"Excellent!" Dumbledore exclaimed. "In that case, I have a possible solution. We could provide the lady squid with a cocoon that will encase her in a saline solution to protect her from the lethal lake water. What parts need to be… eh… accessible?"

That was easy, since Snape had already studied that part. "The arms and tentacles, sir. That's all. It's… it's not like people."

"Thank goodness for that. We should be able to wrap the rest of her in sea water and even protect the greater length of the appendages. Are you going to invite me onto your boat, Severus? I would be more than happy to assist you."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir," Snape said humbly, and he and Dumbledore apparated to the North Sea while Hagrid waited by the side of the lake to receive the new squid when she arrived and get her settled in properly.

It took all of Hooper's ingenuity to convey to the female squid that she was to be wrapped in sea water. Snape tried to work out a formula to express the weight/buoyancy issue, taking into account the relative densities of fresh and salt water, warm and cold water, factoring in the effect of ammonia… The squid didn't care because the lake wasn't deep enough to make any difference to her. Snape wanted to clarify the issue. This met with the combined resistance of Hooper, Dumbledore, and the squid. The whales also were getting impatient, and Snape gave in.

Dumbledore's first spell was Bombylis, which enclosed the squid in a gelatin-like package that kept most of its body parts surrounded by water of the proper salinity. A quick check with the squid revealed that she found this rather comfortable. Then came the hard part - apparation.

Snape left this last entirely up to Dumbledore, who had himself lowered by winch next to the squid's mantle, carefully avoiding the arms and tentacles. Quantities of deliberation and a lot of determination later, Dumbledore and the squid were on their way to the destination, leaving the whales and the launch to flounder for several minutes in the wave movement caused by the sudden disappearance of such a volume of actual and displaced water. Bidding farewell to the whales, Snape and Hooper then disapparated as well, and found themselves on the lake shore witnessing a scene of considerable power.

Apparently, as soon as the female arrived, the giant squid attacked the barrier. The female responded by attacking back. The barrier suffered, but held.

"Good heavens," Snape cried in alarm. "What are they doing?" It looked as if the two were fighting with murderous intent, or at least with intent to cause grievous bodily harm.

"They are in love," replied Dumbledore, his smile more beatific than usual.

"They're going to kill each other!"

"Ah, yes. The perennial risk of dismemberment. But I am certain the two of them agree that the satisfaction is worth the risk."

"And you were worried that I might hurt them?"

"Your interference would cause unnatural harm. Their interaction may cause harm, but it would be entirely natural. I am certain you understand the distinction. If you do not, then I would advise you to take up a different hobby. Knitting, perhaps."

"Thank you, Headmaster. I shall keep it in mind. Do you think they've… eh…"

"I doubt it," said Dumbledore. "The angle was wrong. I also doubt that either one of them cared. There are certain advantages to dealing with cephalopods."

Snape left then to return the launch to the Hebrides. It was a couple of hours before he returned. Nothing had changed with regard to the squid and his new girlfriend. They mated, and then the squid swam around looking for another mate. He inevitably found the same female, though whether or not he knew it was the same female was anybody's guess. The female made no attempt to avoid the encounters, anticipating them with the same eagerness the male did. Given that there was a barrier between them, Snape sincerely doubted the mating had any effect, but the two squid didn't seem to care. Arms and tentacles interlocked in the air above the barrier, and nothing else was required. At least for the first day.

By morning, the female squid had adjusted to the temperature difference and could leave the enclosure. This proved a disruption to the ecological balance of the entire lake, since neither of the squids had any sense of propriety or decorum. Their lovemaking brought arms and tentacles perilously close to beaks, and soon bits of squid were floating randomly on the lake.

Naturally Snape thought of sushi. It was the wrong thought.

"Merlin! What a terrible taste! I thought squid were at least relatively mild, if a little chewy. What's wrong with this?"

"I do not taste anything wrong," said Dumbledore to the obvious disbelief of McGonagall and Sprout, neither of whom would probably ever try sushi again. "It reminds me of a candy I tried in Finland. Salmiakki I believe it is called. An acquired taste, I admit, but once acquired, quite nice."

"Nice? It tastes like cats'…" Snape's comment was arrested by McGonagall's glare and died unspoken. "It tastes like window cleaner smells," Snape continued, and McGonagall nodded emphatically.

"That, my dear Severus," Dumbledore said, "is the ammonia. I thought that you told me yourself that squids use ammonia for buoyancy."

"Yes, but I didn't think they would taste of it."

"Man ist was man isst," said Dumbledore. "In the winter the Finns feed their chickens with fish meal, and in the spring the chickens taste like fish. You must get used to it."

"I'll never get used to the taste of ammonia," Snape insisted, then thought of Marmite and declined to pursue the conversation further.

Another subject that was discussed at that meal sent Snape rushing downstairs. At the entrance hall he skidded to an abrupt halt. The hour glasses, which had remained empty during the magic blackout, were back, with loads of gems reflecting the points that Dumbledore had apparently calculated all the way back to September. What caught Snape's eye was the green of the emeralds – the emeralds that outnumbered the other gems – and the fact that Slytherin was ahead of everyone in the race for House Cup. His heart skipped a beat, and then he continued on down to the Slytherin common room.

It was Sunday, and all the students who had been gone for the Easter break were back, getting ready for classes the next day. Snape wasn't interested in all the students. He was interested in Josh Van Zandt.

"Who do we have for a Quidditch team?" was the first thing out of Snape's mouth when he saw Josh lounging in front of the fireplace.

"You're joking, Professor," was Josh's reply. "We haven't been able to fly all year."

"Neither have the others, so we're all in the same boat, figuratively speaking. Who do we have? Professor Dumbledore wants a match every Saturday in May and the first half of June."

Other students were gathering around now, a sense of excitement beginning to fill the room. "I don't know, sir," Josh said after a moment's thought. "We'll be at a disadvantage."

"How so?"

"No Seeker. Lionel graduated last year. Sergey, too, but it's easier to find a Beater than a Seeker. All the other houses have good Seekers, and we'll not only have to find one, but train one in two weeks."

"Task too hard for you, then?"

Josh grinned. It was clear he'd missed the chance to play Quidditch in his last year. "Too hard, sir? No way! I'll have a team out there to play, sir. We'll show them what Slytherin is made of!"

Suddenly the entire school was hit with Quidditch mania, and the rivalry extended well into the teaching staff.

"No offense, Severus, but gambling is gambling, and there's no room for sentiment. You'll have an untried Seeker, and I'll have to back Gryffindor." To be honest, Kettleburn didn't look particularly depressed at this development, since betting had never been a sentimental issue for him.

"You wait, you mercenary old dog. We'll beat the pants off Gryffindor and make you eat crow!" Snape glanced up at McGonagall, who'd come over to join the conversation. "That Cup is going to be a Slytherin Cup this year, just like the House Cup."

"You think so?" said McGonagall, settling into a chair next to Snape. "I see you made out like a bandit on the points so far. Sympathy points is all, just because you got flooded out. We've got two months to go, and we're going to overtake you and leave you in the dust. Part of that is Quidditch. We'll bury you in Quidditch. You don't even have a Seeker."

"We'll get a Seeker. We've been having tryouts for two days now, and several good prospects."

"I've seen those prospects, laddie, and I want you to know that I'm not exactly shivering in my boots. If I see anything to make me worried, I'll let you know."

"Any advice you give me, I'm checking with my team captain. You're a shrewd one, and I wouldn't put it past you to try to lead me astray."

"Drat," said McGonagall. "Foiled again."

In the middle of everything, around the first of May, the Ministry sent for Dumbledore in the matter of Hogwarts v. Semyon Romanovsky. Dumbledore asked Snape to accompany him as a material witness.

Snape was not thrilled at the prospect of reentering the Ministry and going down into the criminal courts area. He was sure Scrimgeour, Moody, and Robards would be there, and the memories were unpleasant. Still, it was necessary.

The involvement of the aurors was not the only unpleasantness. The Minister of Magic, Millicent Bagnold, was there as well, probably due to the presence of the Headmaster of Durmstrang, an intimidating wizard named Gorbachenko. The staff member accompanying Gorbachenko was another rude surprise.

"I thought Igor Karkaroff was in Azkaban," Snape whispered to Dumbledore.

"He was, but his sentence was suspended for his assistance in rounding up others."

"Was I one of the others?"

"It was after your trial. Nothing he said had any effect on what happened to you."

Snape noticed, however, that Karkaroff seemed even more uneasy at being inside the Ministry than Snape himself did, and that he kept glancing over in some trepidation, as if he had cause to be afraid of either Snape or Dumbledore. _I'll bet he did give them my name,_ Snape thought. _Gave them my name and was intensely disappointed to find that it could no longer buy him any favors._

The hearing was a convoluted one. Gorbachenko claimed breach of contract in that Hogwarts had not provided him with a Dark Arts professor in accordance with their agreement. Dumbledore countered by presenting the documents they'd found on Romanovsky showing that the Durmstrang professor was responsible for the barrier that had kept Hogwarts incommunicado from September to April, and in his turn charged Romanovsky with espionage and Gorbachenko with conspiracy to commit.

The judge was curious as to how Dumbledore acquired the documents, which led to a description of Hooper talking to the giant squid, and from there to the accusation that Romanovsky had deliberately induced the squid to attack Slytherin house, at which point Gorbachenko demanded that Paul Hooper be brought as a witness. Moody then confirmed the boy's talents, evidence accepted by the judge, and Gorbachenko charged the judge with bias.

Court was recessed to allow tempers to cool.

In the end the decision was a compromise designed to preserve international peace and cooperation. All of Romanovsky's dubiously acquired documents would remain at Hogwarts. Romanovsky himself would be remanded into the custody of Gorbachenko. Romanovsky was forbidden to return to Britain under penalty of making the acquaintance of several dementors in a northerly setting. The judge and Minister left, and the others went through the cold formality of shaking hands and wishing each other well.

Snape meandered over to Karkaroff. "How are things going, Igor?" he asked in a conspiratorially low tone of voice. "I'm glad to see you not in custody. I hear state's evidence can be very convenient."

Karkaroff glared at Dumbledore's back, then turned coolly to Snape. "I do not know what you are talking about, Severus. I was innocent, and I was released. I heard you were working for two masters."

That was not welcome news. There were too many who would consider that information a reason for seeking vengeance. "You shouldn't believe everything you hear," Snape countered.

"The source is generally considered impeccable," rejoined Karkaroff, nodding in Dumbledore's direction.

"Are you planning to stay long in Britain?"

"I am not planning to stay in Britain at all. The farther away I am, the happier I am."

"I wish you great happiness," said Snape, and went to stand by Dumbledore, thankful that Karkaroff was as eager to stay out of the company of former colleagues as Snape was. As long as he was at Durmstrang, he was no threat.

"Can we talk?" Snape asked Dumbledore after they'd left the Ministry. "Some place private."

Some place private was a pub at the foot of Fleet Street for a late lunch. The business crowd had thinned out somewhat, but the place was still crowded and noisy, and the last place other wizards would choose to meet. Snape selected steak and kidney pie and a pint while Dumbledore chose chicken Kiev and wine. Snape cast a nonverbal Muffliato, and for a minute or two they ate in silence.

Then Snape asked, with apparent calm, "How does Karkaroff know I was working for you while the Dark Lord was still with us?"

Dumbledore's fork stopped halfway to his mouth. "Who says that he does?"

"He does. According to him, the source of his information is impeccable. There are few impeccable sources of information in the wizarding world, so I thought I'd start at the top."

Dumbledore sighed. "Do you remember that after your trial I had to go to London several times for meetings of the Wizengemot? One of them included Karkaroff's hearing. He implicated several people, most of whom were already in custody."

"I was one of them?"

"You were, and I reminded the Council that I had already spoken for you and that your service to our cause was already known."

"Did you mention that I'd passed you information?"

"I said you had been at great risk."

"So if any of the others talk to Karkaroff, it'll come straight back to me. Or if Bella's right and he's not dead, and he talks to Karkaroff…"

"But you are at Hogwarts, Severus, and Karkaroff is in eastern Europe at a school that sets great importance on secrecy. I would not worry if I were you."

Snape was unusually quiet as he and Dumbledore apparated back to Hogsmeade. It seemed that everything was arranged to ensure that he remain at Hogwarts under Dumbledore's control. Both the Ministry and the former Death Eaters were a danger, and only in Hogwarts was there safety. Snape was intensely depressed by the whole thing.

Luckily, the moment he set foot in Hogwarts again, there was Quidditch. It was a measure of the depths to which Snape had sunk in such a short time that Quidditch was suddenly one of the bright spots in his life. Van Zandt had, however, come through, and the team was shaping up. A third year named Lorelei Deverill was the second Beater, and Alvira Carstairs had surprised everyone by turning out to be a rather talented Seeker. They were raw and untried, and the team had very little time to practice together, but at least it was something.

Slytherin was not in the first match, which was played the very next weekend, on Saturday the fourth of May. The first game was Gryffindor against Ravenclaw, and Sprout and Snape separated McGonagall from Flitwick in the reviewing stands. A large number of spectators had come from outside, including Moody and Bill and Charlie Weasley's entire family. Arthur greeted Snape briefly, but Molly still refused to approach him.

The game would have been boring if it weren't for…

Madam Hooch threw the Quaffle into the air and, in his excitement, a Gryffindor Beater, mistaking it for a Bludger, slammed it right into her nose. Blood spurted, the crowd roared in response, and a penalty was awarded to Ravenclaw. Hooch had to retreat while Pomfrey tended her nose, letting Kettleburn substitute as referee. "Bias!" Snape screamed. "He has a bet on Gryffindor!" but nobody heeded him, and Gryffindor scored three times before Hooch returned to the match. "That was a foul! A blatant foul!" Snape yelled at Kettleburn as the latter resumed his seat. "If they win by just ten points, I'll get you, you miserable bloodsucking toad!"

"Severus," said Flitwick gently, "they're playing Ravenclaw, not Slytherin. I do appreciate the support, but do you think you might tone it down a bit?"

"He was trying to cheat you out of a vic…"

"The game has only just started. Please sit down. Please, Severus, sit down. You're calling attention to yourself."

Snape sat, and Sprout patted his arm in a maternal sort of way. "It's been a hard year for us all, dear," she said gently, "but most of all for you. Try to think of it as just a game."

"That's right," Flitwick said. "It's only a game."

Five minutes later, Ravenclaw's Keeper was floored with a Bludger to the head, and as Gryffindor began racking up score after score, Flitwick hoisted himself onto Snape's shoulder to scream, "Stop him! Knock him off his broom! If she won't call an obvious foul, do what you have to! You can knock a Cloud Rider out of the air if you set fire to the twigs! Get the cheating little…"

"Professor Flitwick!" snapped McGonagall with her best pursed-mouth frown. "Show a little decorum, if you please! This is not a pit at a cock fight!"

"Oh, really?" Snape rejoined. "And why would the pit of a cock fight come first to mind, dear lady? Have you been known to bet on a quick pair of spurs?"

"Watch your mouth, child. I'm old enough to be your mother!"

_Grandmother _– Snape mouthed, which admittedly was cutting it close, but all is fair in love and Quidditch rivalry.

_You are going down!_ McGonagall mouthed in return, and the rest of the match was spent with McGonagall on her feet, fist in the air, while Snape carried an exuberant Flitwick on his shoulders – exuberant until Gryffindor's seeker found the Snitch, and the match ended with Gryffindor on top, 210 to 140.

"We beat you in everything!" Flitwick screamed at McGonagall all the way back up the hill to the castle. "Our Beaters beat your Beaters! Our Chasers beat your Chasers! Even unconscious our Keeper beat your Keeper! The only thing you had was a lucky Seeker, because before he got the Snitch it was 140 to 60! But he's a seventh year, isn't he, and next year you're toast!"

Snape was quiet, for once paying attention to the Quidditch talk. Next weekend his team faced Hufflepuff, which was not too serious. Hufflepuff always fielded a competent team, but they lacked the fire of Gryffindor, or the drive of Slytherin, or the pride of Ravenclaw. You had to be careful when you played Hufflepuff, but if you were, you generally won. What he was paying attention to was the weekend after that when Slytherin played Ravenclaw. They would be thirsting for a win, and as cunning as it was possible for Ravenclaw to be. Snape needed to talk to Van Zandt.

Dumbledore met them at the entrance to the castle to invite everyone into the Great Hall to celebrate the first Quidditch match of the year, and to congratulate Gryffindor on its win. It was then that it occurred to Snape for the first time that Dumbledore never appeared at a game, yet always seemed to know what was going on.

It was as if he had a secret way of watching.

And then a week had passed, and Slytherin played Hufflepuff. Now Snape would sit with Flitwick and McGonagall between him and Sprout, but something subtle had changed. Snape thought it was Flitwick. Flitwick said it was McGonagall and Sprout.

"It's the fact that they're women," the little professor insisted as they walked together down the hill for the match. "One game is pretty much like another to them unless their own team is involved, and then they get very excited. We men, now, we see each game as a unique and unrepeatable event, each game having its own personality so to speak. It's the difference in perspective between the hunters and the gatherers."

"We being the…" Snape prompted.

"Hunters, of course. Plants are cyclical while prey is individual. You'll see. McGonagall will be calm regardless of what happens, while Sprout will be excited regardless of what happens."

"I seem to recall you being fairly excited about your own team last week."

"That, young man, was due to the individual events of the game. If today's game is exciting, I'll be enthusiastic. If not, I won't."

Snape thought about this carefully. _And I don't usually give a pinch of owl dung about any Quidditch game unless Slytherin's winning or losing, or advancing, or falling behind. So what does that make me? Hunter? Gatherer? What's in between – exciting and cyclical? unique and at the same time devoid of individual personality? Fishing. I'm the fisherman. Fight like mad while the shad are running, then forget all about them until the next season. A pox on both hunters and gatherers. Fishing is the real sport._

Fishing made Snape think of the giant squid, and he realized he hadn't seen a lot of thrashing going on in the lake recently. He really had to study more about squid. Maybe they went into heat like dogs and cats. Maybe one of the two was sick. Maybe one of the two was dead. There is a certain disadvantage to making love with the same technique that you use to combat a mortal enemy.

The game started predictably. Part of this was due to Richie Gamp, Slytherin's Keeper. Richie had been a third year when the Dark Lord was defeated, and his father's allegiance to the Dark Lord had been made public. Richie had been singled out as a target and from that moment had played a defensive game every day of his life against students who wanted to make him responsible for every act committed by every Death Eater since the Dark Lord's advent. Aggressive defense was his whole life. Richie was a superb Keeper, one of the best in Hogwarts's history. Hufflepuff could not score a single goal. Slytherin, on the other hand, scored twice in the first twenty minutes, and Sprout began to bounce in the staff bleachers.

Then the whole game fell apart because Alvira Carstairs, Slytherin's new Seeker, suddenly decided to play like a brain-dead Gryffindor. She saw the Snitch, and she dove for it.

"Go, Alvira!" McGonagall yelled above the roar of the crowd. "Get that Snitch! Show them what you're made of!"

Snape was on his feet in an instant. "No!" he screamed. "Not 'til we have at least seventy, you fool! Not until we have at least seventy!"

Beside him, McGonagall grabbed Snape's arm and tried to push him back into his seat, all the while urging, "Be quiet, Severus. Leave the poor girl alone. She's doing a fabulous job and doesn't need you interfering with her."

It was hard at that moment to behave both like a head of house and like a gentleman. Head of house won, and Snape shoved McGonagall back into her seat, himself rising and clambering onto the bench where he'd been sitting, to join a now frantic Van Zandt and Commyns who were screaming, "No, Alvira! Not yet!" but it was already too late. Carstairs had the Snitch, Slytherin won the game 170 to nothing, and Gryffindor was still in the lead by forty points.

"I'm sorry, sir," was all Carstairs could say later in the locker room. "I wasn't thinking."

Snape wisely kept his mouth shut, since all he could think of to say were sarcastic, condescending insults. Instead he deferred to Van Zandt who was, after all, captain of the team.

"It's all right, Alvira," Van Zandt assured her. "It was your first game. You were excited. We can still make it up. I'll admit it'll be harder, but we can still make it up. Let's go over this now – what are you supposed to pay attention to?"

"The overall strategy. Gryffindor has 210. We needed at least 210. That's where I screwed up. We've only got 170."

"After the strategy?"

"Make sure they don't get the Snitch before we do."

"When you dove, was there any danger of Hufflepuff getting the Snitch?" Van Zandt asked gently.

"I don't know. I didn't look."

"Next time you'll remember," Van Zandt said, and Carstairs nodded emphatically.

Snape sought out Hooper. "Is everything all right with the squid?" he asked.

"I don't know," Hooper replied. "We're not exactly pen friends or bosom buddies. I don't think he remembers I exist… unless he needs me, of course."

"Could you check? I haven't noticed him for a while. I hope it's nothing serious."

The next Quidditch game, Saturday the eighteenth of May, was Gryffindor against Hufflepuff. It was a surprisingly intense game, given the distance between the two contestants, and one where two women heads of house were pitted against each other. It was fortunate that Snape and Flitwick sat between McGonagall and Sprout, or hair might have been torn. Gryffindor, after a hard-fought defensive battle, was victorious, 180 to 40.

The following Saturday was the Slytherin/Ravenclaw match, and this time Snape was grateful for the presence of McGonagall and Sprout, for Flitwick gave every indication of wanting to gouge Snape's eyes out. Slytherin won, 200 to 50.

It was now Gryffindor against Slytherin. The June first battle between Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff was a minor entertainment. Hufflepuff won, but it did not affect the upcoming duel on the eighth, when Slytherin, with 370 points, would meet Gryffindor, with 390. Whoever won the Quidditch Cup would win the House Cup as well.

xxxxxxxxxx

Hooper found Snape the first week in June. "He isn't happy," was the first thing out of Hooper's mouth.

"Not happy!" Snape exclaimed. "I moved heaven and earth to get him a girlfriend, and he's not happy? What does he want from me?"

"Look," said Hooper, "he doesn't understand heaven at all, and earth isn't the easiest concept to get across either. He knows you worked hard, but she's not what he expected."

"What the heck did he expect? All they do is hit each other with their tentacles, and from what I can gather, that's as good as it gets. What more does he want?"

"She's not happy," Hooper explained. "She keeps complaining. Why isn't the lake deeper? Why isn't the water colder? Why aren't there more fish? Why aren't there other cephalopods she can eat?"

"Other cephalopods? Is she a cannibal?"

"From what I can gather, sir, all squid are. It positively increases your respect for humans, talking to squid does. By the way, she's also complaining about salinity, algae concentration, lack of ocean access, the unavailability of other male squid, and accuses him of being a poor provider and a mediocre… uh… mate."

"Has she compared him yet to the Joneses?"

"I'm not sure, sir…"

Snape forbore to comment further, having grown up in a small village and knowing exactly what the female squid was complaining about. "Has she asked to go home to mother?" he inquired.

"I'm not sure I understand, sir. There seems to be an external, x-chromosome specific fixation…"

"You are not a second year. You cannot be a second year. I am going to ask Dumbledore to promote you to at least fifth year."

"Thank you, sir. What do we do about the squid?"

"Does he want her to stay?"

"I don't think so, sir. He keeps thinking about how nice it was here before she came. Whenever he thinks about her, it's kind of mixed. I mean, he thinks about… thrashing his tentacles around, but he also thinks about peace and quiet, and how he hardly ever gets any…"

"Good," said Snape. "Tell him we can get rid of her and report back on his reaction."

"Yes, sir."

And then, in the middle of end-of-year exams, it was Saturday again. It was Saturday, and time for the showdown between Slytherin and Gryffindor. Time for the decision on who would win both Quidditch Cup and House Cup. Time for the decision on which house was the best…

There was no question in Snape's mind which house was the best. Which house had been flooded out, lost all its possessions on the first day at school, and risen to the top anyway, no other house being even in contention for fortitude in adversity? No other house could take that away just because of Quidditch.

The school trekked en masse to the Quidditch field for the last match of the season. Not only were the house stands full, the visitors' stands were packed as well. Snape saw Moody and Robards almost immediately and, was he imagining it, Judge Bones as well. The Weasley clan was there, and so were several Slytherin families, including the Van Zandts and the Deverills.

As the teachers approached their stand, Snape was seized by a puckish mood. Stepping to one side, he waved McGonagall ahead of him, whispering as she passed, "Age before beauty."

Her reaction was almost… almost everything he could have wished, for she hesitated, frozen in a pause pregnant with suspense. Then, remembering her youth and the fascinations of Mrs. Parker and the Algonquin Club, McGonagall turned, smiled, and rejoined, "Pearls before swine, Professor. Pearls before swine."

It was an augury of what was to come. In the past four years, McGonagall and Snape had begun to develop a relationship of friendly rivalry tinged with a barbed respect for each others' wit. Their two teams had also developed a rivalry, with Slytherin no longer the weak pushover it had been, now a rival to be respected and handled with care.

The Quaffle rose into the air, and Gryffindor took possession at once. A series of passes from Chaser to Chaser carried the Quaffle down the pitch, but then they had to deal with Richie Gamp. The first attempt at a goal was swatted back like a fly. Gryffindor recovered the Quaffle and tried again with as little success. Again they recovered, and now the Gryffindor Chaser flew at the hoops, then suddenly passed to another Chaser coming up to the second of the three hoops, but Richie was just as fast and managed to connect his toe with the Quaffle and send it flying across the field with a mighty kick.

To the regular chant of "Fly high, Gryffindor!" was now added the Slytherin response of "Bye, bye, Gryffindor," complete with a banner displaying the words just in case anyone was unclear about it.

Now Slytherin was blocked at the hoops, but on their second pass the Chaser feinted left, veered down and then back up even further left, confusing the Gryffindor Keeper and scoring a goal. Slytherin's cheers were joined from the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff stands, as were Gryffindor's boos.

"What do you think your chances are, Severus my boy?" Kettleburn yelled in Snape's ear, just a touch louder than was actually necessary.

"Small to none for Slytherin!" McGonagall interjected. "We're going to plaster them all over the field!"

"I'd say we had a pretty good chance," responded Snape. "We're hungrier than they are. Hunger has a lot to do with winning."

"So does skill," McGonagall snapped.

"We're not lacking in that either," Snape replied, watching Commyns streak across the sky and a well-aimed Bludger nearly unseat the Gryffindor Seeker. High above everyone, her eyes darting around for the Snitch, Alvira Carstairs waited patiently. This time she didn't have to worry about strategy. The game would go to the team that captured the Snitch

Gryffindor scored next, and then for fifteen minutes it became a Bludger war, with Beaters aiming at anything near a Quaffle. Snape was in his element, having always preferred the Bludgers anyway. A Gryffindor Chaser was knocked from his broom, which continued forward into the guest stands, sending Moody and Robards to the floor in a dive to escape it. "Go Bludger! Go Broom!" Snape yelled, far enough away so the two aurors would never be able to distinguish his voice. "Serves you right, you bloodsuckers!"

"My, we are taking this personally," Sprout commented, then was on her feet herself as Slytherin made a run for the hoops and scored again.

"Keep your eyes open," Snape called to Alvira, who couldn't hear him, "pretty soon you go Snitch hunting, girl!"

Gryffindor began a run, but the Quaffle was intercepted by Slytherin, and the green and silver scored again. Gryffindor retaliated with another goal, but Slytherin was still ahead by ten.

The Slytherin stands were frantic, screaming themselves hoarse, when disaster struck. Disaster pure, simple and unavoidable. The Snitch appeared, and it appeared right in front of the Gryffindor Seeker's nose. He lunged for it and missed, his fingers brushing its wing. High above, Alvira saw what was happening and dove. The Snitch zig-zagged between players and Bludgers, Gryffindor's Seeker right behind it, while Alvira plummeted down at what looked like an eighty-five degree angle, heading for the spot where the Snitch was going to be in three seconds…

The Seekers reached for the Snitch at the same time, on a collision course with each other, fingertips outstretched and broom crashing with broom in a horrible jumble that fell to the grass in a confusion of red and green. For a moment it seemed the Snitch had disappeared, but then it was suddenly visible – in the hand of the Gryffindor Seeker.

Gryffindor had won the Quidditch Cup, and by doing so, the House Cup as well.

Dust and ashes. It was a truly sobering thought that he, Severus Snape, could feel this way about Quidditch. He turned toward McGonagall, who was fairly bouncing with joy and excitement, with what he hoped resembled a cheerful countenance. "Congratulations, Minerva," he said, reaching past Flitwick and Sprout with his right hand extended. "An exciting end to an exciting game."

McGonagall was laughing. "Ye fought well, laddie, but we couldn't very well let you take Gryffindor's cup away from us, now could we? Ye'll have to face facts – there are some battles ye just canno' win."

Snape excused himself, saying that he had to be with his team, and went quickly down to and across the grass. Inside he was beginning to seethe. _Gryffindor's cup? Battles that cannot be won? There are four houses in this school, and no law that says one of them is destined to always be on top. The Quidditch Cup is one thing. It depends on the outcome of six games that are decided as much by chance as by skill. Look at today. The Snitch was practically throwing itself at the Gryffindor Seeker, and if he'd had any skill, the game would have ended earlier. But the House Cup rewards long term teamwork and community spirit, and we were well in the lead – deservedly so – until Quidditch reared its ugly head._

His team waited off to one side of the pitch while the center was taken up by madly celebrating Gryffindors and their supporters. Snape noticed that a good percentage of Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were, however, trudging back up the hill to the castle along with the Slytherin students. _Not everyone agrees that the cup belongs by right to Gryffindor. There are others who'd have been happy to see us take it away from you._

"Rotten luck, sir," said Josh Van Zandt with a rueful grin as Snape approached.. "I was just telling Alvira that was a great dive she made."

It occurred to Snape that this was much more disappointing for Van Zandt than for himself. The boy was a seventh year, and this had been his last shot at the cup. "You were outplaying them," he said calmly. "If it was a question of skill, the cup would be yours. Tell me, Van Zandt, how does one factor luck into a game strategy?"

"I don't know that we can, sir. The tournament is always stacked against us and in favor of Gryffindor."

"How's that?"

"This year was different, Professor, but in a normal year we always play Gryffindor first, and Gryffindor generally plays Ravenclaw for the last game of the season. They go into that game knowing exactly how many points they need to win the cup, and they can use delaying tactics to prolong the game until they have enough. Ravenclaw's no pushover, but they don't take the risks Gryffindor does, or use the Bludgers the way Gryffindor does, so it's a pretty good bet that Gryffindor will win. They wait until they have the right number of points, then they go for the Snitch."

Snape thought for a moment. "That only works if they've won most of their matches," he said. "Wins count more than points for the cup."

"Sure," Van Zandt conceded. "If they'd lost to both Slytherin and Hufflepuff going into the Ravenclaw game… but can you see Gryffindor losing to Hufflepuff?"

"Or if Slytherin had already won all its games. The key may be winning that first November game against Gryffindor. I'm thinking of making Gamp our Quidditch captain next year…" The gasps, smiles, and sudden patting of Richie Gamp on the back told Snape this was a popular decision. "…and I was rather hoping the lot of you – you too, Van Zandt – could spend some time now, before the term ends, discussing next year's strategy."

Van Zandt's grin had gotten broader. "Sounds like you're getting more interested in Quidditch than you were four years ago, sir."

"Let's just say I'm getting tired of hearing Professor McGonagall refer to the Quidditch Cup as the Gryffindor Cup."

xxxxxxxxxx

That left the squid.

"They don't get along," Snape confessed to Dumbledore that same evening after supper. "I mean, at first they did, in the, eh, excitement of getting to know each other, but now it seems she's something of a nag."

"Does this mean that all my exertions and risks on your behalf were for nothing? I seem to recall being rather chilled in the waters of the North Sea." Dumbledore was peering at Snape over the rims of his glasses, but there was a twinkle in his eyes that clearly said he was more amused than anything.

"I wouldn't say it was for nothing," Snape replied. "He knows we keep our promises. That's something. He also had some good times while it lasted, even if he won't ever have full use of that third left arm again…"

"She bit that much off of it?"

"I'm afraid so, sir. Luckily he regards it as normal wear and tear. Anyway, something has to be done soon because she's forming those… egg things, egg sacks, on her arms, and if the eggs are laid in the lake it's going to get rather crowded."

"You mean she is pregnant."

"I don't know that pregnant is the right word, sir. It doesn't happen the way it does with people, or cows, or birds, or even fish. It's kind of an external thing. I never realized before how multi-functional a squid's tentacles were."

"But you are telling me, are you not, Severus, that these new baby squid will grow up without a father."

"Actually, sir, if we get her out now, the new baby squid will grow up with one less predator. He has no clue what those eggs are, and he doesn't associate them with himself at all. Even if we could explain the biology to him, he'd probably regard sex as a way of breeding a few more meals. They're better off without him."

"Are you not being overly pessimistic, not to mention condescending to another species?"

"We are talking about the second cousin to a garden snail, Headmaster. You should see Hooper after they've had a conversation. He gets all glassy-eyed and has trouble articulating his feelings for a good five hours."

"I shall take your word for it. What do you wish me to do?"

It was a repeat of the operation that had brought the female squid to Hogwarts at Easter time, except now they didn't need the help of any whales. Instead, Snape and Hooper went out onto the lake in a boat to 'talk' to the female squid and find out if she was agreeable to returning to the ocean. It turned out to be a dangerous task, since the female had no real concept of future time and was incensed that the transport back to the ocean wasn't happening at that very moment. Luckily Dumbledore was assisting from the lake shore, and the boat made it back to dry land sufficiently in advance of the squid to permit Snape and Hooper to leap to safety. The boat was not so fortunate.

The next time they went out – which happened to be just an hour later, since no one at this point wanted to waste any time – Dumbledore used an enlarging spell on the boat to prevent the female squid from scuttling it. Another conversation ensued between a very nervous Hooper and the squid, and Dumbledore once more lowered himself into the water, well away from her tentacles. Destined and determined, Dumbledore disapparated.

He was back five minutes later, looking very tired.

"What happened, sir?" Snape asked. "Is she all right?"

"She is fine, Severus, and her reflexes are excellent. I have just spent the last couple of minutes trying to avoid becoming supper. Do you think we might return to the castle now. I should like a glass of mead."

Hooper went eagerly back to the Slytherin common room while Snape and Dumbledore walked up to the headmaster's office. There, over more than one glass of mead, they reflected on how truly remarkable the Hogwarts giant squid was.

"Did you know," asked Snape, "that he remembers that he's talked to you, and even recalls what the conversation was about? He saved me from that vortex because he was actually thinking about the situation. Thinking! Not analyzing, mind you. I mean, he's only Wonder Squid when you compare him to other squid. Speaking in an interspecies context, there's no competition at all. A gerbil has more analytical ability. But in the world of squid…"

"Exactly so, Severus. I could not have said it better myself." Dumbledore poured them both another glass of mead.

On the whole, it was not a bad end to the school year. Certainly better than the beginning and a great improvement on most of the spots in between, though despite the peaceful end, it was a safe bet that neither Snape nor any of the Slytherin students who had been there that memorable year would ever feel quite as secure in the Slytherin common room as they had before.

Snape was standing by a window on the second floor of the castle watching as the students filed out the great oaken doors into the thestral carriages on their way to the train station. He had to look left and down because he had positioned himself at the southeast corner of the building where he could watch the students through one window and the squid through another without himself moving more than to turn slightly.

On the lawn side there was movement and noise as the excited students wished each other a good summer and piled into the carriages. On the lake side the squid rolled lazily in the sunlit water, unaware that the students were leaving. Suddenly, there was motion along the face of the cliff. Hooper was rushing down the path to make his farewells.

Snape watched quietly as boy and squid communed for one last time, Hooper presumably trying to explain his upcoming absence. All in all, the squid seemed to be taking a calmer view of things since his brief romantic interlude. Perhaps the old saying was true – better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. _Of course_, Snape hastened to remind himself, _the adage only applies to squids, not to anyone else._

Lunch was blissfully sedate. The teachers talked about their summer plans – Kettleburn was going to South America – and Snape played cribbage with Flitwick. McGonagall was discussing Quidditch with Sinistra, which started Snape thinking of strategies to take the cup away from Gryffindor. He thought about it so much that Flitwick skunked him three games running.

"Your mind's not on the game, is it?" Flitwick gloated as they packed up the cards and pegs.

"Not this game at any rate," Snape replied. "I'm plotting a revolution against her majesty."

Flitwick glanced over at McGonagall. "Frankly, I thought Slytherin deserved to win this year. Pity Dumbledore had to reinstate the Quidditch matches. No one beats Gryffindor at Quidditch."

"Has anyone ever won the House Cup without getting the Quidditch Cup, too?" Snape asked.

Flitwick grinned. "Hufflepuff, 1732," he said, "but only because two Gryffindor students kept dueling in the third floor corridors and lost points that way."

"You're joking."

"Actually, I am. But the situation is still a rare one."

"Maybe. But I'd bet a dedicated house could do it."

"And you think Slytherin is dedicated enough to manage it. Best of luck to you, Severus. Next year may turn out to be quite interesting. Not, I hope, as interesting as this year, but interesting."

The rest of the day and the day following were spent putting the classrooms and the castle in order for the summer, and then the teachers left, too, for a well-deserved break. "See you in August," they called to each other as one by one they walked down the hill to the gate and disapparated home.

Snape popped right into his own sitting room, set his Gladstone bag down in a corner, and went straight into the kitchen to light the grate and fix a pot of tea. The next couple of hours were spent with Lord Peter Wimsey, Bunter, and the sinister goings-on in an advertising agency. Then Snape went out to shop for his supper.

A pint at the local pub caught him up with the news, and the leisurely selection of just the right cut of meat for beef Stroganov gave Mrs. Hanson the opportunity to bring him up to date on the gossip. Life was blessedly normal, and Snape was content to have it so. For an entire month he would be free of classes, students, floods, earthquakes, mad Russians, and squids. Life was good.

And, if Snape had his way, after he returned to Hogwarts life would get better. For Snape was working that summer on a project. The project was a plan which, with the cooperation of the Slytherin students and the help of a little luck, would change the colors of next summer's farewell feast from red and gold to green and silver.

Winning the House Cup was quickly becoming an obsession.

xxxxxxxxxx

Thus ends the academic year 1984-1985.

The next story will be posted if and when the author writes it.


End file.
